BUFFALO: This morning I look out the window and see that one of the trees is missing, wrenched off mid-trunk as if God herself had reached down and twisted it off like a licorce stick. I suspect my fookwit crackhead neighbor, the one who bellows like a wounded walrus when he's cracked up. Gotta get out of this place, dude, before Sparky does the old Wicker Man number on us boff. Dude, it's raining!! I love the fookin' rain, dude, being an Aquarius and all. I should move to Seattle, the suicide capital of the USA, where it rains practically non-stop. He-he, Sparky should be scratching at the new door any minute now, the old loon. I should shout through the door and tell him I'm locked in, and that he can't get in because I can't give him the new key. . . arf, arf.