I get down on my knees with a flashlight to look under the bed. Sure enough, they are in there. One of them holds up its paws to shield himself. That is my fear of being insignificant. He doesn’t work in the spotlight. There is an ugly, bald guy with a single black hair on his head, stretching and scratching his belly. That is my worrywart. He springs alert when I poke him. And then there is the big stinky one—the one where nothing ever gets better. I don’t know what to do with that one.
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