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Prologue

     Humanity. Is there -- was there ever such a thing? The old house Sarah walked through proved to be dilapidated beyond repair. It stood monolithically as a sign, which represented man’s failure in the world. Sarah stumbled through the abandoned house. The walls ran thick with blood and filth. All around her, the floor began to shake and the walls seemed like they were breathing. In stark concern and repelling her fear with every ounce of courage, Sarah yelled out at the moving figures outside. Their dark silhouettes created an emotionally perverse frame, as she looked toward the dirty windowsill.

     "Who’s there?" she shouted.

     The silence was stubborn and her question remained unanswered. In a daring motion, she bravely stepped forward to the creaking door. For a queer moment all was silent, but then - Blam! The door busted open and a horde of wild-eyed "things" fell in the house like guts pouring from a severed belly. In that terrifying instant, she woke up.

     The cheeseburgers were burning on the grill and Sarah shook off the last vestiges of her nightmare. In response, another waitress came to comfort her. She had seen Sarah twitching about in a mad, fitful slumber.

     "Hey darling, what’s wrong, are the tips in this place that bad?"

     "I - I’m sorry, replied Sarah. "It’s just that I’ve been working the graveyard shift for too long. I was hoping Vera would let me off of work this Saturday."

     Her coworker just smiled and gave her savvy opinion on the restaurant's infamous work ethics.

     "Baby, keep dreaming! As long as the truckers keep filling this place up like a damned nighttime, concert hall, our lives will be spent dishing out the meatloaf special and the wild turkey surprise!"

     Sarah liked Mina; she was the kind of friend that would always be there to help; the kind you could count on. As Sarah turned back and noticed her boss’s insistent stare to get back to work, she patted Mina on the back and set off to her chores.

     "Thanks for the wake up call, Mina. I’m glad boss Vera didn’t catch me snoozing!"

     Sarah had a peculiar trait as a Mexican woman. Her eyes were a beautiful, pale-blue. This is odd among Hispanics, but she figured she inherited the blue eyes from her Spaniard grandfather. Either way, it was just one more feature that drew a queer attraction to her already, stunning image. Sarah thought that her beauty often made things a bit easier for her and was glad to have been so fortunate. However, she did carry a heavy feeling of inadequacy; she always felt that she wasn’t very confident in anything. Despite the girl’s attractive looks, Sarah was far from being conceited; in fact, she actually felt that she was ugly at times. Her coworker waved for her attention and broke Sarah’s thoughts.

     "No sweat, just keep working on that accent of yours; down here we’re used to a southern slang, but Vera’s a bit worried the customers won’t understand the orders. You know -- since you got such a heavy Mexican accent and all. But hey, don’t sweat it, honey; everybody loves you here. Shoot, Vera even calls you her young Rita Moreno!"

     As Sarah watched the clock pass time, she waited on tables, dealt with cranky old men, and gingerly rejected the usual advances from lovesick truckers with more than their share of rude sexual antics. But despite this, the restaurant was like a home to her and Mina was right; everybody did love her here, even boss Vera. As her shift came to a close and the sun began to rise, she was looking forward to settling down in her comfortable bed. However, she couldn’t help to wonder if she’d get a long-awaited, good rest or more visits from her purple-skin, dreamtime boogiemen.

The Experiment

    The night was falling in the city and the street urchins were out in full force. While men and women passed by the busy streets complaining about one petty thing or another, above them, a full moon raged in it's glowing brilliance. Lovers walked hand in hand among the elevated train tracks and policemen passed by city block corners with a suspicious eye. It was the typical urban experience that Greg Weir was comfortably used to.

      "Come on, baby - You can’t trick the lord!"

      That was the message the dirty, homeless man repeated night after night. He was a man that Greg had seen on dozens of occasions as he traveled through the dim subway station. Greg always rode the train to work, because it was much faster and solved the frustrating problem of finding a parking space near his downtown lab.

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