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And I know many things, for I walk by 90. I know many strange tales, hidden in the hearts of men and women, who are kept into the shadows. Hmm, I know the name of the charters of which they stand not to see.

And also this for strange stories. The calculating stars of moving in, gray misty patches, whirling about the sweet lights of the commercial district, just as thankful for cold water spots. The tower clock atop the ferry building pointed at 20 minutes of eleven.

As Glenn Tillman sets out of the offices of the Malecine Chemical Company, turned up his coat collar to shut out the chill of the night. Outwardly, you appear calm, don't you, Glenn? And your set flooring even makes you go down to the designated street, into an all-night diner at the corner of the block.

Oh, Glenn, you're burning the mid-night air, eh? Yeah, had a knock off for a cup of coffee. Make it black, Dad. Sure. Think you're talking about living in there? Max? No. He's at the plant.

Well, how do you guys wait like this nine after nine? But it's all for living longer. Who is me? I put in my eyes. What the fuck is that? Sounds like a mess. Well, find the box somewhere.

Come on, let's have a look. Look up there. Fire! It's all planned. Come on, you guys. Watch down the street, the other's close behind. Your heart is beating wildly, isn't it, Greg? Yes, your building is on fire.

Your partner, Max, Linda is in there somewhere. Somewhere in that tonight's mail, playing in smoke. And then if you reach the scene, another looks close and walks the building. Hey, go to the train back, you guys.