39) I rarely observe people alone. Though they may be alone in their thoughts and behaviors, people move together. I would like to join them in their work and play. Certainly my ugly dreams always include another, or more. But, sadly for me, I cannot fall in. The reasons for such a condition are out of focus. I only know Dr. Creep has made fraternizing out of bounds. He says it is for my own protection. For just as one knows the heavier bottle will smash the lighter, that the crow will menace the sparrow, and that an unwashed hand makes for a poor soup, I cannot do well amingling. So has the Doctor warned me, though in less colorful terms. A cordon sanitaire surrounds me. Fate. I need only recall, most recently, how the child who saw me leave the church unsteady with a belly full of wine, roiled inwardly. How he/she/it trembled! How they struggled for help words, how they made urgent gestures at the sky for salvation. And how my isolation became the tiny child's as I passed: a listing heap of pleas. How very alone is this babe with prayers that will never be answered! I cannot but make young and old slump to the ground. And animals. Things crumble. Dr. Creep must answer me when I ask the wherefore and the why of this. He calls it fate. I may not want it. I do not. I must force Dr. Creep out into the open. He must be made to join me in a conversation about the terrible path my life has taken. He must be made to help. I need a correction of some kind. I am not well.

As I run, a glance behind reveals only a few, maybe a dozen, on my trail. The little church has many friends, it seems. Still, there are more hills here than pursuers. I need to find a place to hide. I am surprisingly fast in the open, even while soaking wet, which I remain from the rain falling again.
I have an idea. It occurs to me when I first smell the smoke of a small house fire. Over a rise I see below an entire beach front of homes of cold souls. House fires pour smoke over the scrub beach. And I think I'm alone! Dr. Creep, you had better get here quick. I am going into the neighborhood. I need to dry, my gut is aflame. Medicine, medicine. I am descending to be among the poor folk. They are defenseless, Dr. Creep, aren't they? In each house is a story that will never be told, or if it does, will never get out to the world. Small people suffering small hiccups of life before small fires. I will choose one, and they may well be done for. Woe unto that private hearth. We shall see.

Here I come.