Had an interesting conversation with Little Red Riding Hood. She knows who she is, and as I pondered that conversation these words began to form. Do Unto Others Waiting in the wings like poisonous fumes, get too close and it fills your lungs, breathe too deeply, and down into the murk you go. So we dance along the periphery, tiptoe across the razor's edge, distracting ourselves from the cold reality with trifles. Sex for some, drink for others, all the same-- a mortal mask to hide the passing hours from our searching eyes, a bitter secret. And so we offer our version of this plastic paradise to strangers passing in the night, hoping to find kindred souls. Someone to share the heavy burden of our misery and the fleeting glow of a moment's pleasure-- their bliss becomes our drug.