Serving Tacos to a Serial Killer in Training
And then I looked into the boy's eyes.
Not like a creepy thing — it wasn't as if I had to. It was as if I couldn't help it. For the boy's eyes were dead, malevolent, like an evil, lifeless doll or something. And I realized I was serving tortilla chips to a budding Jeffrey Dahmer.
I rationalized. Someone, somewhere, had to have served a glass of iced tea to John Wayne Gacy, right? Ed Gein probably was served breakfast at some diner by someone, yes?
Empires collapse, fortunes evaporate, and stocks nosedive into hell—but a deep sleep, a clean shit, and a laugh that shakes your skeleton remain the closest thing humanity has to real wealth.