I think of poison. Am I deranged? Maybe cyanide, arsenic, or what’s that other one? Strychnine. And then there’s poison mushrooms. When I eat mushrooms I always hope that the person who picked them knew what he or she was doing. Maybe I should write a murder mystery about poisoning. I have all those books at home. If my library is ever analyzed, they’ll think I’m a nut. I have books describing guns, poisons, and other questionable subjects. I think only a writer would understand this. I can hear them now, “Yeah, she always was kinda different.” ” Well, Mr. Jones, are you surprised that your neighbor is taken into custody for murder?” “No, not really, she always was kinda strange, and her son played Dungeons and Dragons.”