Left to myself past the hidden meanings in enticing words I wonder if I understand anything of humanity at all. Only ten real people with real fears and hopes and selfishness is too many to know. I suppose I dip lightly into the well of each companion because I would drown in their own brand of poison if I touched more. I am only immune to my own and that of a few others I may not know. So much greed and pettiness and selfishness and hate and fear and disgusting remnants I find myself thinking as I never thought I would "Enough! Don't tell me anymore! Don't let me further in!". And I am one of their pathetic lost number, as tied to my own romanticized filth as any of them. It's no wonder we laugh so loud.