Swimming, swimming, swimming. If I stop swimming I firmly believe I will drown. I'll sink down into that deep dark that haunts me. For now, this is not a problem. Swimming is easy. Swimming is what I do and I do it so well. In and out of the clubs and bars, with the tide or against the current, its all the same to me. Over the tables, between the stools, among all the pretty fish. At a distance I circle and watch and wait. There is an art to waiting. I haunt the shoal until I smell that smell. I can smell a pretty fish before I see her. She may be clean, she may be soaked in perfume, but she can't hide that scent. That so subtle signal, that tells me when she is ready to be taken. Loneliness like a shadow cast across her pointless, gulping face. When she is filled to the gills with need and her drink of choice, when she moves to the edge of the shoal, that's when I strike. A flick of the tail, I'm there. All teeth and trapping, I lose the deadness in my eye. Its that moment, in a conversation, when words do my dirty work. When smiles belie what I really want. Because what I really want is meat. I will do practically anything to get my prey. If you want a nice guy, I will renounce my tribe. If you want mean, I can do that. You want to laugh, I'll swim on my back and roll my eyes into the top of my head. The result will be the same. You see, I know who you are. I've been doing this for a very long time. I'm from those unforgiving seas and they have taught me how to hunt, how to feel the vibrations, and to follow that trail of bubbles to its source. I need you. I hate you. I can tell the hunger in a room, see the hunger in your eyes, the hunger in your soul. Its that same hunger which drives me on, and on, through these dim lit places, swimming these fascinating waters, searching for the next pretty fish, the next silhouette, the next moment to defy the dark. Swimming, swimming, swimming.