This is his Piggstia

Vaknar sent med vad som verkar vara ett kryddmått av Saharas allra finkornigaste sand i mina ögon. Sträcker på mig som ett litet kattdjur i sängen. På distans hör jag Deathis läsa upp något som låter som en trosbekännelse. Jag bävar, lyssnar, ligger och våndas, står inte ut. Går med stadiga steg mot skräckens kammare. Deathis ligger på golvet som en utslagen sjöstjärna och rabblar en ramsa på engelska, om och om igen.

This is my Piggstia. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My Piggstia is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my Piggstia is useless. Without my Piggstia, I am useless. We know it is the shags that count. We will shag. My Piggstia is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories, its bed, and its alarm clock. I will ever guard it against the ravages of soap and tidyness. I will keep my Piggstia filthy and ready, even as I am filthy and ready. We will become part of each other. We will. Before God I swear this creed. My Piggstia and myself are the defenders of humankind. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life. So be it, until there is no enemy, but peace.

Kingen, förlåt honom, han vet inte vad han gör.