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In its own way the kiss had been an act of murder.

Jeff Lindsay

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Jeff Lindsay
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: July 14
Novelist
Playwright
Writer
Miami
Florida
Jeffry P. Freundlich
Jeffry P. Lindsay
Kiss
Murder
Kissing
Way

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Really now: If you can't get me my newspaper on time, how can you expect me to refrain from killing people?
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What do you want a clock for?” “To find out what time it is,” I said. “I think that’s the usual purpose.
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been there done that, bought the t-shirt Chapter 2
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IN MY LIFELONG STUDY OF HUMAN BEINGS, I HAVE FOUND that no matter how hard they might try, they have found no way yet to prevent the arrival of Monday morning. And they do try, of course, but Monday always comes, and all the drones have to scuttle back to their dreary workaday lives of meaningless toil and suffering.
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What to wear? I could think of no guidelines on what we were wearing this season to a party forced on you to celebrate an unwanted engagement that might turn into a violent confrontation with a vengeful maniac. Clearly brown shoes were out, but beyond that nothing really seemed de rigueur.
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I don't know if you have noticed this, but it is quite possible for two human beings to have a conversation in which one or both parties involved has absolutely no idea what they're talking about.
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A man can take only so much. Even a phony man like me.
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I had killed our careful relationship by driving my tongue through its heart and pushing it off a cliff.
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But what could I do? Be stupid for a while? I wasn't sure I knew how, even after so many years of careful observation.
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Feeling - what authentic human fun!
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I'm a very neat monster.
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But as I have noticed on more than one occaision, life itself is unfair, and there is no complaint department, so we might as well accept things the way they happen, clean up the mess, and move on.
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Money to me had always been merely something the sheep used to show each other how wonderful they were.
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I rose to my knees, mouth dry and heart pounding, and paused to finger a rip in my beautiful Dacron bowling shirt. I pushed my fingertip through the hole and wiggled it at myself. Hello, Dexter, where are you going? Hello, Mr. Finger. I don't know, but I'm almost there. I hear my friends calling.
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I thought about the nice clothes that I always wore. Well of course I did. I took pride in being the best dressed monster in Dade County.
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After a long moment I closed the freezer door. I wanted to lie down and press my cheek against the cool linoleum. Instead I reached out with my little finger and flipped the Barbie's head. It went thack thack against the door. I flipped it again. Thack thack. Whee. I had a new hobby.
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I waved to everybody. Some of them even waved back. They knew me, had seen me go by before, always cheerful, a big hello for everybody. He was such a nice man. Very friendly. I can’t believe he did those horrible things . . .
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Life's only obligation, afterall, was to be interesting.
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Could this be the Apocalypse ?
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The key to a happy life is to have accomplishments to be proud of and purpose to look forward to, and at the moment I had both. How wonderful it was to be me.
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