In the Sanitarium, the voices grate with harsh laughter un-comforted as the hyena’s howls at night. The garbled tongue of indifference to the ears of civilized men, ricocheting off concrete walls, delivers nonsense and shame. To belong to such an affront to conscience is to pull teeth without anesthetics, without pleasantries, without consideration of the slow impalement of all mankind that we must, all of us, endure with smiles as white as drifting snow. Do the hyenas howl to the tops of Kilimanjaro? And how we clean our white teeth with the corpse’s bones leftover from the chase that has ended, exhausted, in the nourishment of the Demonic! These bones are our bones, as we chew our own legs knowing the fear, the exhaustion, the damnable despair of running, always, always, from our cruel stalkers, so determined to stake us down on to the map, oblivious to locations.