And, if the days are dark, the nights are a dungeon of nightmares, populated by ghouls of every sort.
It is the price I pay, not gladly, but without regrets.
I do not regret feeling, though it is not becoming in a man of hairy chest and booming voice.
And who said I wanted to be like that, anyway?
There's nothing but contempt for those who go about bragging of their male-ness, as though they could wish themselves into what they are not.
Either it's there, or it's not.
And, if it's there, what's the need for the display?
That's what mandrils do, with their coloured faces (and arses).
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