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Why can I never afford
to put one foot wrong? My every step
so short, and placed so carefully.
Why do I always dress impeccably
and speak with such precision?
Why must my little moustache
be trimmed and waxed so exactly?

How do I understand so perfectly
what a proper, well-bred murderer
would say and do? Perhaps I am only
one short, careful step removed
from those that I pursue. Perhaps
those “little grey cells” are, after all
really of a somewhat darker hue.