…of ghoul.

Just returned from scouting my Florida location and stalking various horror film stars of today and yesteryear. I love horror conventions like one loves a favorite t-shirt: always comfortable, if maybe not always presentable. And there are little imperfections always showing up that only endear you to them more. Nonetheless, you’d rather throw out the most expensive item in your closet than be rid of such a garment. I could go on, but the metaphor is already stretched further than it deserves.