Pretty name for a pretty girl. She was twenty-two and in college and she wrote poetry. When she first told me, I rolled my eyes. She had no fucking id...a what poetry was. Probably wrote about unicorns and fairies and true love and all that shit. That was more like literary masturbation. It wasn’t real. What was real was writing about the fucked up shit, taking all that rage that builds up inside of you until you want to scream, and putting it onto words. That was beautiful. Not fucking sonnets. "I have kept extensive files on you, cross-referenced, checked, and extrapolated all of the possibilities..." (Lum thought, Trekkie freak.) "...And all of my research comes back to the in disputable fact that your alien physiology, Lum-chan, needs heat."Lum pulled at the little tiger-striped bikini, trying to get it to cover more, "You got that right. It's gotten chillier."Megane told the man behind the counter, "Master! A bowl of your most powerful curry-and make sure it has plenty of. More

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