You ever get the feeling that you were being watched? I get that feeling all the time. Mostly it happens at home. I'll just be sitting here, mindlessly counting the minutes until my hunched form completely collapses in on itself, when all of a sudden I feel the icy stare of the unwashed masses boring into my soul. Fretfully I turn my gaze away from the beloved cathode energy washing over my retinas and cast it upon nothing. The piles of aluminum cans have become home to unknown masses of arthropods, their shells glimmering in the blue glow of Peter Jennings's suit, casting brilliant shards of light about the room in a glorious display of the insect's triumph over borax. This is a display of entropy rarely reached in the industrialized world. The tendrils of decay infiltrate every crevice throughout this small space. Oh look, a black widow in my shoe. God I need a piece of fruit.