Mom's going to be so pissed. I went out last night. I don't know why I bother. I don't fit out there. I don't know where I fit.

So I climbed down the wall. I've got my own climbing wall dug in the bricks out there. I don't think mom knows about it. Probably Mr. Doyle does. I don't think it's possible to keep many secrets from the guy. Master of deductive reasoning and the arrogant glare.

I like going out in the night. Traveling through the dark parts of the city where there aren't any streetlights. Sometimes I like to hide around the outskirts of the concerts and the raves and listen to the music on the inside. Sometimes I like to dance. I know it sounds stupid, and I'm sure I look like a total assclown, but I do. I like to dance and I like to pretend that there might actually be some girl out there interested in dancing with me.

So there I am, dancing in the dark, listening to the bass thumping through the brick wall of a dance club. That's what I was doing when it all went down.

He came out of the alley, wearing a dirty black jacket, torn jeans, and with a face pitted with craters worse than I've ever seen. Guy was almost uglier than me.

"Hey buddy," He says. "Got any spare change?"

Oh great, a panhandler, right? Only that wasn't what this guy was up to. He got closer and I could see the mean look in his eyes. You know the kind of look I'm talking about. The kind you see in the eyes of schoolyard bullies, gym teachers, and everyday psychos.

I hate that look.

I could see the shadows moving in the alley behind him. Guy wasn't alone. Had at least three buddies with him, and they were all coming towards me. Then he pulled a switchblade. I'm not kidding you. I mean, it's the 21st century, bud. Who uses a freakin' switchblade? He started coming at me.

Oh hell. Mom's coming. I'll tell you more later. She's going to be so pissed. Blog you later.

. . . if you look at him long enough. I've been standing here and staring at that poster mom put up in place of the mirror I broke for so long he's starting to look like me. I guess this is a moment of reflection.

lol

Mom and I watched King Kong with Dr. Graves the other night. Not the new one, the old black and white. Dr. Graves won't watch the new one. He says they never should have changed it.

Still, it was kind of nice, just hanging with mom and watching a movie. She worries way too much about me these days. I'm all right. Pretty much invulnerable.

We had Chinese food last week. There was a bag of fortune cookies and I opened up one.

The fortune said - "Do not fear change".

Stupid cookie.

Mom didn't say anything about the mirror. She just swept up the pieces like there was nothing wrong. Then she hung up a poster of King Kong. The new one, you know?

I liked that movie. The way Kong wouldn't take crap from anyone. I liked the way he tore up those Tyrannosaurus Rex. Rexes? Whatever. He really wrecked them, you know?

I cheered when he grabbed that biplane. I knew they were going to get him sooner or later, but I cheered just the same. I wanted to see him kick the shit out of those flyboys. I wanted to see him climb down off that skyscraper and throw some more cars around. He could have done it.

Who am I kidding? The big guy was done right from the beginning. The big ugly guy never makes it.

I'm getting angry again. It's weird, talking to this computer like there's somebody on the other end. I wonder what you look like, whoever you are.

I saw a girl today, in the house across the street. She was looking at a computer. I wonder if she was looking at my blog.

I haven't seen the woman with the mutt all week, but I keep watching for her and that stupid dog in its red sweater.

That's bad luck, isn't it?

I was looking out the window. I do a lot of that. I could see this woman walking past, down on the street. She smelled like a fish market. It isn't normal, smelling a woman from two floors up, is it?

She had a dog with her. One of those little poof dogs, part fluff and part muppet. The kind that looks like you ought to shove a stick up its butt and run it across the floor like a mop. It had a red jacket on. Supposed to be cute, I guess.

I wanted to punt the pooch. Like a football, you know? I could see the little mutt sailing over the telephone wires, like a field goal. I kept feeling that urge, like I wanted to make it real. Like it was pictures in my mind. I couldn't turn them off. I kept looking out the window, picturing that dog sailing ass over flea collar, just waiting to hear the mutt land.

Then I looked away, and saw myself in the mirror. I didn't look any worse than usual, but it still kinda takes me off guard, even now. Pisses me off.

That's when the mirror got broken.

Mom is going to be so pissed.

I'm going to look for the woman tomorrow.

It's kind of freaky, typing away into thin air, like I'm talking to someone.I ought to be used to it, I suppose. There's just not that many people to talk to when you look like me. One of my friends—like, the only guy I can really talk to—is a ghost. How talk-to-nothing is that?

Dr. Leonard Graves.Mom says he used to be some kind of big shot adventurer.He's a doctor, but I don't think it's the kind with a stethoscope. He's kind of like Indiana Jones, with a whole lot bigger guns. He talks to me a lot, more than anyone else. He's kind of a teacher, I think, only better.

I've seen a lot of doctors. None of them could tell me much. They kept talking about things like skin grafts and vitamin deficiencies, all the time stealing looks at me like I was some kind of a freak. Like I couldn't understand what they were talking about. I hate that, more than anything, when adults talk over you, like they figure they can transport you into some kind of another dimension while they talk amongst themselves.

None of them could explain the horns.

I trust Dr. Graves more than any of the others. Maybe even more than mom. It's like he's dead, so he doesn't have anything to be afraid of. Not even me.

Maybe he ought to be.