Title: People Are Strange
 Summary: Mulder, Scully, and the Doors. But it's not your normal
 song fic.
 Rating: PG-13, language and violence
 Category: S A MT UST
 Disclaimer: CC, 10-13 owns the people. The Doors sort of own
 the plot. I just rammed 'em together and got this story, but I'm not
 making money off it, so I hope they'll all look the other way.
 Archive: Yes
 Dedicated to Susan Proto, for her unique perspective on song fic.
 To Daydreamer, who will go to _any_ length for research on
 medical procedures <VEG> and to Brandon Ray who gave me the
 time off 'our' project to do this one. 

People Are Strange
 by Vickie Moseley
 vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

Chicago, Illinois
 February 28, 1999
 10:35 pm 

Silence. 

Then, noise. Loud, blaring noise. All around him. Taunting him,
 pulling at his hearing, beckoning him up and on his feet. 

It took him a moment to rise to his knees. He had to use the rough
 brick of the building to climb all the way up to his feet. He swayed
 and wiped at his face, his fingers coming back sticky and wet and
 red. 

Blood. 

His blood. His head hurt but it was almost comforting. It was
 familiar. Nothing else around him was familiar. Not the alley he
 was staggering down, not the street before him. He wiped at the
 blood with the sleeve of his coat, attempting to keep it out of his
 eyes, keep it from blurring his vision. 

He was alone. 

Once on the main street, he tried to place where he was. A city, a
 run down commercial district. He didn't recognize any of the
 buildings, none of the storefronts meant anything to him. He
 swayed to the left and decided it was just as good a direction as
 any. 

He'd have called a cab if he had any idea where to go. 

Chicago Police Station
 State Street Precinct
 11:21 pm 

Dana Scully was more than angry. She was in a murderous rage.
 And the fat desk sargent was giving her an impassive smile that she
 was more than prepared to rip off his ugly, swollen face. 

"What do you mean, he's missing?" she demanded once again. 

The sargent shrugged. "I'm just passing a message, ma'am. The
 detectives with Agent Mulder called in and said he wasn't where
 they left him off. They looked around and can't find him. They
 said they were on their way back here. You can take a seat over
 there if you want." He pointed to a wooden bench that was already
 occupied with a couple of 'ladies of the evening' who were waiting
 for their rides home. 

Scully had just reached the moment where nothing really matter to
 her but finding her partner. She leaned over the desk, having to
 stand on tip toe to do so, and grabbed the sargent by the collar,
 pulling his face to within inches of her own. 

"We are talking about a Federal Agent, here, asshole," she growled.
 "And if he's been hurt, so help me God, I'll . . ." 

A hand came down on her shoulder and spun her around. "Agent
 Scully, I really wish you wouldn't wrinkle our people. It
 intimidates the hell out of them," purred the detective who had left
 just three hours earlier with her partner. 

Scully shook off the man's hand. "Nelson, where the hell is
 Mulder? Why weren't you keeping tabs on him. What the fuck do
 you call 'back up' in this God forsaken hell hole of a city?" she
 shouted, using her index finger to drill into the man's chest to make
 her point. 

Nelson looked at her calmly, but Scully could sense fear in the
 man's mannerisms. "Agent Scully, your partner told us to drop him
 off. He was afraid that too many men would draw attention. He
 told us to leave him at the site and come back for him in an hour.
 We did just as instructed. When we got there, he was no where to
 be found." 

Blowing breath out of her mouth did nothing to calm her nerves,
 but she did it anyway. "He's not answering his cell phone," she
 said through clenched teeth. 

Nelson pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket. "Does his cell
 phone look like this?" 

It was everything she could do to keep standing. His cellphone,
 smashed, or at least one identical to it, was clearly visible through
 the plastic of the bag. More grist for the accounting mill, her mind
 chided before her overwhelming sense of dispair fully hit. "Did you
 find his gun, his wallet?" 

"Not yet, but I left three men to comb the area." 

"Take me there," she told him and didn't give the rest of the station
 a second look as she pushed open the door and hurried out into the
 night. 

In the night
 12:00 am 

He hunched down in his overcoat, his body contracting with violent
 shivers. The air was cold and the wind seemed to cut right through
 him, but that wasn't all. The cold seemed to start inside him, right
 in his own body. 

There weren't many people on the street and those who were there
 were frightening to him. Their faces were distorted by the neon
 lights of the store marquees and signs. When he let his gaze
 wander to the people he passed, they seemed grotesque, dangerous.
 Ugly. They were all ugly. None of them reminded him of anyone. 

As his head continued to pound, his stomach was churning and
 threatening to erupt. He lurched forward, and even in his
 disheveled state, sought out another alley before emptying the
 contents of his stomach against the outside of a dumpster. 

"Fucking drunk! Why don't ya go to the shelter and sleep it off?"
 yelled a voice from the street just a few feet from where he was
 leaning heavily against a stone wall. He blinked, wondering if the
 'kind soul' would be good enough to give him directions to this
 shelter. By the time he made it back to the street, the man was
 gone. 

He searched other faces for a while. Most of them were actively
 ignoring him, hurrying about their business. One or two of them
 gave him a predatory smile and he hunched deeper in his overcoat
 and quickly walked past them. No one seemed likely to come to his
 aid. He'd be suspicious of any aid they might offer him, anyway. 

He had no where to go, but he knew he had to keep going. 

Wells and 60th Street
 12:02 am 

"Det. Nelson? I think I found something!" 

Scully jerked up at the sound of the voice and hurried over to the
 young uniformed policewoman. She was holding a small
 rectangular object in a latex gloved hand. As Scully drew closer,
 she recognized the item immediately. It was the wallet which held
 Mulder's badge and ID. 

"Let me have that, officer," she requested and the wallet was
 handed over. Scully's throat constricted but she defied any emotion
 to betray her exterior facade. She opened the wallet almost
 reverently. "It's his," she announced and quickly placed the wallet
 in an evidence bag and tucked it in her coat pocket. 

"Umm, Agent Scully?" Det. Nelson said softly. "That doesn't
 mean anything, really," he said sheepishly, pointing to her pocket. 

"You may be right. We're not certain that a crime has been
 committed, Detective," she said, even though she knew that was
 hogwash. Mulder might lose the occasional cell phone, had even
 been known to drop flashlights and weapons. But never once had
 he 'accidently' lost his wallet and identification. He kept it in his
 inside coat pocket at all times. The only way he would have parted
 with it was by force. 

Nelson looked at her for a long moment and it appeared he was
 going to say more, but a call from farther down the alley forced him
 to turn away. 

"Sir, I think you should take a look at this," came another voice.
 Scully had to hand it to the CPD, they had been efficient and
 thorough in the search of the area where Mulder was last seen. She
 hurried over to see what had just been uncovered. 

Nelson tried to grab her, to keep her from looking. She shoved his
 hands off angrily and turned her flashlight where another young
 uniformed officer was standing. 

Blood. 

A good deal of it, from what she could see. A splatter about four
 inches in diameter was on the red brick of the four story building
 forming the wall of the alley. A line approximately two inches
 across then made it's way four feet down the wall to end about two
 and a quarter feet up from the pavement. There was more blood,
 puddled at the base of the wall. She could almost hear the
 sickening crack as Mulder's head made impact with the rough
 brick, could almost see his body slide down the wall and land with a
 thud on the pavement. Her stomach turned over and threatened to
 rebell against her best intentions to stay focused and calm. 

"I want samples. The FBI can fax Agent Mulder's blood type and
 DNA information. Just to be positive it's a match." She turned
 away, not able to look at the blood coated wall any longer. 

A hand gently pulled at her sleeve. She looked up into Det. Nelson
 sympathetic eyes, and hated the man for seeing her so raw and
 defenseless. 

"We'll find him, Agent Scully. If it takes all night," the detective
 assured her. 

"He doesn't have 'all night', Nelson. I'm calling in
 reinforcements," she spat out and pulled out her own cellphone,
 placing a call to Headquarters in DC. 

On the street
 1:14 am 

He'd just thrown up again. It was getting harder and harder to
 keep walking. He was more than cold, he was bent over with the
 need to bring some warmth to his body. The shivers that had been
 haunting his every step were now almost convulsions. 

It was harder to see, as well. His vision had been fading in and out
 for the time he was walking. It would go double, then blurry, then
 snap back into focus for a few seconds before going blurry again.
 But for the past few minutes, it had been consistently double and
 that made it difficult to walk without stumbling. 

Fewer people were on the street now. Most of those he passed
 reeked of cigarette smoke and that turned his stomach. Most of
 them smelled of cheap booze, too and that only made his own head
 ache more out of sympathy. He knew no one around him could
 help him now. Most of them were as bad off as he. 

In the distance, under a street lamp, he chanced to gaze a halo of
 red. Red hair. Soft, sparkling under the even glare of the halogen
 lamp. He headed for it like a beacon in a storm. He crossed the
 distance jerkily, not able to make a direct path, but bouncing off
 walls and windows and parking meters in his haste. At last he was
 within reach and he grabbed the arm nearest him. 

He recoiled at the sight of her face. This was not what he was
 expecting. Garish paint concealed any humanity in her eyes.
 Unnatural black lips sneered at him, stealing his soul. 

"You like what you see, honey?" snarled the black lips and he threw
 himself backward, hitting a parking meter and falling to the
 concrete, scraping his hand. 

"You're drunk, but maybe you still want a good time, huh, lover
 boy?" she purred, but he was already crawling backward away from
 her. 

"Don't run, baby," she cooed. "I won't hurt you. You got some
 money left or did you drink it all? C'mere. Let me see how big you
 are." She reached down between his legs and tried to grab him but
 he lunged away and stumbled to his feet, running off as fast as he
 could. 

"Prick!" she called after him and it echoed in his ears. 

How could he have been so wrong? He saw the hair and it meant
 something to him, but not that, not what she had to offer. Not
 what she meant to steal. 

Breathing heavily around a corner, he closed his eyes. It was the
 wrong thing to do. The pavement was broken in this block and in a
 split second, he stumbled over a large crack and fell hard to his
 knees. The jarring made him dizzy and sick and he leaned over and
 threw up right on the street. 

This time, no one called him a drunk. They just ignored him and
 hurried down the street. 

Hyde Park Station
 2:08 am 

"Where are they?" Scully didn't bother with introductions, she just
 pulled her badge on the way in the door and flashed it to all and
 sundry. The desk sargent, a women about Scully's age, seemed to
 understand her question immediately. 

"Interrogation room three. Down the hall, elevator to second floor,
 take a right and then the third door on the left." Scully was at the
 elevator before anyone caught up with her. 

"Agent Scully," called a young man in a very nice suit. Scully
 turned to look at him and decided before he even opened his mouth
 that he was Bureau. A very new agent, but Bureau, none the less. 

"I'm Special Agent Greg Dillard. I was sent over from our office
 here to assist you in any way." He offered his hand and Scully gave
 it a look but didn't bother to shake it. 

"Did you get the match on that blood we found?" Scully said
 tersely. 

Slightly chastised, Dillard nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Perfect match. It
 was Agent Mulder's blood." He was a little surprised by her
 response. 

"Good. I want an APB issued for any suspect caught with a
 Bureau issued hand gun. And this is now an official 'missing
 persons' or possible kidnap case. That means all nearby Bureau
 resources are to gather at your office by . . ." she glanced at her
 watch, " 3 am sharp." 

Dillard blanched. "But Agent Scully, that's less than an hour!
 Some of our people live in the 'burbs," he protested. 

She turned on him with fury in her eyes. "I don't care if they have
 to bilocate, get them assembled by three," she hissed and entered
 the elevator car before he could respond. 

He stood there with his mouth open for a moment. "What a bitch,"
 he said outloud. Det. Nelson was standing just a couple feet away,
 having witnessed the entire scene. Dillard shook his head in
 amazement. "She was actually _happy_ her partner's blood was a
 match!" 

"She already knew it was, kid. This just gives her the proof she
 needs to get others moving. Believe me, that lady will gladly rip
 the heart out of who ever did this to her partner. And I, for one,
 would love a ring side seat." 

Interrogation room three was a tiny affair, not more than a closet.
 The metal table could only comfortably seat four people and there
 were four in the room already. Scully leaned against the closed
 door. 

"Where did you get the gun?" One of the detectives Scully had
 seen in the alley where they'd found Mulder's blood was
 interrogating a couple of terrified teenaged boys. 

"We _found_ it," a pimply faced young man of about 17 said
 emphatically. The other youth, no more than that age, nodded his
 agreement. 

"Where did you 'find' it?" the detective asked, not appearing to
 believe the young man's story. 

"In a dumpster. In the alley off 58th and Wells." 

"You go through dumpsters a lot?" asked the detective impassively. 

Both boys exchanged worried looks. "We were looking for rats,"
 said the previously silent young man. 

"Rats?" replied the detective in a non chalant tone. "You trying to
 start a religion or something?" 

"No," answered the first youth in all seriousness. "We were, . . .
 we just wanted to . . ." 

The second youth looked disgusted and then spoke. "We wanted
 to catch a couple. There's a girl at school. 'Tracey Livingston',"
 he said in a mocking tone. "She dumped on Gary pretty hard
 tonight at the dance. We were gonna catch a couple of rats and put
 'em in her locker on Monday. Scare her, ya know?" 

"Do you realize that this gun belongs to a Federal Officer? An FBI
 agent who is believed to be injured and missing? Do you have any
 idea how lame that story sounds in light of the fact that you were
 found four blocks away from the alley you said you found it in, with
 the gun in your possession, without the little 'rat surprises' for
 Tracey Livingston?" Scully growled rapid fire and it looked like
 both kids were likely to pass out just from fear. 

"We didn't see no FBI guy, honest!" exclaimed the first. 

"There was no body in that alley, 'cept us, ma'am and that's the
 God's honest truth!" cried the second boy, with tears rolling down
 his face. 

The fourth man present, obviously the boys lawyer, turned to
 Scully. "Look, you have nothing on them. They're kids, they
 found the gun and didn't know where to take it. You have nothing
 connecting these boys to the kidnapping of your agent and I can
 have a dozen witnesses verifying that they were at the teen
 center an hour before they were picked up. Save the tax payers a
 'wrongful arrest' suit and let 'em go." 

For a split second, Scully's resolve almost crumbled. Only her
 partner would have detected how close she was to losing control.
 Her partner who was out on the streets of Chicago, hurting,
 without his badge or his gun. Suddenly, it hit her. 

"His wallet," she muttered. She then jerked her head up to the
 other detective. "We didn't find the his wallet." 

The detective looked perplexed. "But I thought you found . . ." 

"We found his ID, not his wallet. It's a trifold, black leather, my
 Mom gave it to him for his last birthday. His driver's license, his
 credit cards, less than fifty dollars cash. We haven't found the
 wallet. If it was robbery, they may try to use the credit cards," she
 said with a sigh of relief. "Or he may still have it on him. If he's
 found and they take him to the hospital, they'll call me. My
 cellphone number is on his emergency card." She stalked out of the
 room. 

"Or if the 'outfit' put a hit on him, they'll use the license as trophy,"
 said the lawyer to the detective when Scully was out of earshot. 

"You brave enough to bring up that alternative to the lady?" the
 detective asked with a wry smile. 

"Not in this lifetime. At least, not without body armor," said the
 lawyer seriously. 

The detective gave the lawyer a sour look. "Teach your 'clients'
 that rats carry diseases," he spat out and left the room as well. 

Under the El tracks
 2:56 am 

He had to rest. It wasn't a conscious decision, his legs just refused
 to carry him any farther. He found a little gangway, near the
 elevated tracks, crawled inside and prayed that his head would stop
 hurting so badly. He wasn't as cold anymore. He was hot. He
 stripped off the overcoat and pulled at the blood soaked jacket
 beneath. Anything to get cooler, to get some air. It had started to
 rain and leaned out into the drizzle, letting the cold water run down
 his face, opening his mouth to allow it to collect on his tongue. He
 was so thirsty. If he didn't find water soon, he'd be forced to drink
 out of a puddle on the street. 

His movements brought attention, mostly unwanted. A group of
 four youths had been hanging out at the el station and now tumbled
 down the stair. From their higher vantage point, they got a good
 look at the 'crazy man' trying to pull his clothes off in the 32
 degree drizzle. The teens gave each other knowing glances and
 came to a silent decision. Together, they moved cautiously over to
 where the man lay, now shivering in the wet and the cold. 

"Hey, Mister. You drunk?" called one of the teens. 

Mulder didn't bother to answer. He was so out of it, he couldn't
 make out the words even if he'd bother to listen. He just continued
 to try and collect water on his tongue. 

"Hey, old man! You answer when the 'Folks' talk to you, ya hear,
 ya deaf old bastard!" The teens were coming closer and he still
 made no move to acknowledge them, or even to protect himself. 

"Crazy bastard. But that coats in good shape. We could sell it." 

"Hell, we could _wear_ it," said another. "And them shoes. My
 old lady's boss has shoes like them. They don't come from
 Payless." 

They were on him in an instant. A fist hit the side of his face and he
 seem to come aware at that moment. Some instinct or some
 training deep inside him took over and he fought off his attackers.
 But the injury to his head and the weakness of his body didn't give
 his defense much strength. He was holding his own, but just barely. 

"Aw, fuck this," yelled one of the teens when Mulder's fist
 connected with his jaw. He dug in a pocket of his baggy jeans and
 pulled out a four inch Buck knife. "Enough with this shit!" The
 teens backed off as their companion lunged at Mulder, the knife
 pointed at the center of his chest. 

Mulder had just enough forethought to deflect the attack, but not
 entirely. The knife missed its intended target, but slid into his upper
 chest like it was going through butter. Mulder screamed, pulled the
 knife out of his flesh and turned it on his attackers. It was a brief
 burst of adrenaline, but it did the trick. The boys took in his wild
 eyed rage and fled the area. When they were gone, Mulder
 collapsed onto the ground, moaning in pain. He knew he wasn't
 going any farther. 

He just prayed that the next person to find him would come to his
 aid. 

Wells Street El Station
 3:14 am 

Lizzy Tull wearily stepped off the train and rolled her shoulders.
 All she wanted to do was make her way down the steps and the half
 block to her apartment. She had just gotten off work as a nurse at
 Rush Presbyterian St. Luke's Medical Center. The last thing she
 wanted to do was stumble over a bleeding, unconscious man. But
 that is exactly what she did. In an instant, she pulled out her cell
 phone and called for police and an ambulance. 

FBI Chicago Regional Office
 3:15 am 

"All right, everybody, calm down and listen up!" shouted the
 Regional ASAC Bob Galway. "Hospitals, what have we come up
 with?" 

A young woman got to her feet. Scully remembered that she's
 been introduced as Agent Rivera. She cleared her throat and
 started out. "We've alerted all the area hospitals, including the
 ones in Gary and the suburbs. So far, no one matching Agent
 Mulder's description has been brought in. They know to contact us
 in the event he shows up." 

"Good, good. Nelson has informed us that All Points have been
 issued on Mulder. The weapon was found, not too far from the
 alley where Mulder was last known to be. So far, no luck on the
 credit cards, but that's a long shot. If there was cash in the wallet .
 . ." 

"There was, about 50 dollars," Scully sighed. 

"Then they probably tossed the wallet after taking the cash. The
 city has been notified and all city workers will be on the lookout for
 Agent Mulder. The garbage crews go out in about 15 minutes." 

"Too late, it's getting too late," Scully was muttering under her
 breath. The other agents kept giving her furtive glances, but no one
 dared approach her. The woman was one raw nerve and every one
 was terrified of getting on it. 

There was a knock at the command room door and a young agent
 hurried in, talking in low tones to Galway. Galway took a piece of
 paper and nodded then smiled in Scully's direction. 

"Pay dirt on the cards, Agent Scully. A convenience store about 10
 blocks from our site just called in that someone had attempted to
 use one of Agent Mulder's cards. They hit the silent alarm and a
 beat cop nabbed the guy before he got off the block. We've sent a
 car over to pick him up." 

"I want to be in on the interrogation," Scully said, gathering her
 papers and not daring to look up. It was a thin lead, but it was
 possible that the man holding Mulder's credit card would know
 what had happened to him, and where he was. 

Galway drew in a deep breath, as if preparing for battle. "Agent
 Scully, I know how bad you want to find your partner. But I think
 it would be extremely unwise to have you in the room with this
 character. Now, I'll go along with allowing you to observe, in the
 next room . . ." 

"Sir, Agent Galway, with all due respect," Scully interrupted. "I
 was allowed to interrogate the young men who found Mulder's
 weapon. Why won't I be allowed to interrogate this man?" 

"Det. Nelson said you pretty much scared the shit out of two kids
 who'd done nothing but get caught with a lost weapon. Scully, I
 know how hard this is. All of us have had partners, and by and
 large all of us have had situations where we've been forced it sit on
 the sidelines and hope everything comes out all right. I can
 understand how much you want to do something. But that doesn't
 stop me from knowing that you are too close to this. And if we
 want a positive outcome from this interrogation, I feel it would be
 best to have someone objective handle it." 

Scully nodded, her face tight and closed. She was halfway out the
 door when Galway called her. 

"And Scully, don't waste the dime on calling Skinner. I already
 talked to him and he's one hundred percent behind me on this one.
 As a matter of fact, he suggested that the interrogation should be
 handled by someone else." 

Scully just glared. Then she turned on her heel and headed for the
 nearest ladies room. 

Dana Scully had always been very conservative with her tears. She
 didn't like to waste them and this time was no exception. But as
 she stood looking in the mirror, she could no longer hold back the
 fear, anger, frustration and feeling of helplessness that had been
 threatening to overwhelm her since she'd first found out that
 Mulder was missing. 

He was always ditching her. It had gotten better, but she was used
 to that. This time, however, he had made it clear that he was _not_
 leaving her behind. It had been by mutual agreement that she stay
 behind and deal with the coordination at the station house, and he
 go to the site to see if the perpetrator would show up. He had
 taken proper back up, he had been going by the book. 

Right up until the point where he disappeared with about a half a
 unit less blood in him. 

I should have been there, she derided herself. I should have gone
 with him. The two of us wouldn't have drawn that much attention.
 A whole squad car of Chicago cops would have caused a major
 ruckus, but the two of us would have been able to wait the guy out. 

The tears were quickly becoming sobs. She knew in her heart that
 the perpetrator had not appeared. Mulder's disappearance was not
 the MO of the man who could break into any security system and
 leave no sign that he'd even been there. So something else had
 happened to him while he was waiting for their 'phantom'. Her
 nightmares would provide her with some possible explanations. 

There was a knock at the door of the bathroom. A muffled voice
 filtered through the wood. "Agent Scully, are you in there?" 

Scully looked in the mirror and declared her face a total disaster.
 She wiped at it, but knew the action was futile. In disgust, she
 scrubbed it with some soap from the dispenser and dried it quickly.
 "Yeah, I'm here. I'm coming right out." 

She drew in a deep breath and prepared to meet the world. Agent
 Rivera was standing at the door, shifting nervously from foot to
 foot. She shoved a slip of paper in Scully's face. 

"I think we may have found Agent Mulder!" 

University of Chicago Medical Center
 March 1
 1:45 pm 

The long night had fast become a longer day. By the time Scully
 had arrived at the hospital, Mulder was already in surgery. The
 knife had nicked his lung, as well as a major vein. Scully decided
 that for his next birthday, she was going to get him an medi-alert
 bracelet reading 'suspectiable to hypovolemia and hypothermia'. 

But all in all, it was the hairline fracture of the skull that had her the
 most worried. The doctors had been monitoring the injury closely.
 Mulder was taken from surgery to recovery and directly to ICU. 

Memory loss was a very real possibility. The question was whether
 it would be just the most recent events, like what the hell had
 happened between 10:00 pm and 3:30 am the night before or
 whether it would incompass more time. Like the last six years. 

All Scully could do was wait. 

UCMC
 10:13 pm 

He was standing in a crowd of people. He recognized faces, but for
 the life of him, he couldn't put names on any of the people. Some
 of them smiled at him, others frightened him by their intense hatred
 they displayed toward him. He didn't really _know_ any of them. 

Then when he turned, he looked into a mirror. There was someone
 standing just a few feet away, reaching out to him. A woman with
 red hair. 

He knew her. And he knew her name. 

"Hmmm . . ." 

She roused from her sleep, certain he had just moaned. 

"Uhhmmmm." He did it again, and this time, moved his hand
 where it was clasped with hers. She squeezed his fingers. 

"C'mon. You can do it," she encouraged. 

Finally, he opened his eyes, and blinked. Then as her face came
 into focus, he smiled. 

"Hey there. Remember me?" she asked, and was working hard to
 hide her fear of the possible answer to that question. 

He closed his eyes, but squeezed her hand. A single name escaped
 his lips as he drifted off to sleep again. 

"Scully." 

the end 

People are strange
 by The Doors 

People are strange
 When you're a stranger
 Faces are ugly
 When you're alone
 Women seem wicked
 When you're unwanted
 Streets are uneven
 When you're down. 

When you're strange
 Faces come out in the rain
 When you're strange
 No one remembers your name
 When you're strange
 When you're strange 

That song was just taunting me the other night. I came home and
 worked out this story. What do you think? 

vmoseley@fgi.net 

Vickie 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

"Oh, God Almighty, just vote and
 get it over with!" 

Outburst from a spectator of the
 Impeachment Trail who was
 escorted from the Senate Gallery
 in handcuffs. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^