My name is Dexter. I’m not really an addict, I don’t know what I am. I just know theres something dark in me. I hide it. I certainly don’t talk about it, it’s there, always.This darkpassenger, and when he’s driving I feel alive, half sick with the thrill, the complete wrongness. I don’t fight him, I don’t want to. He’s all I got. Nothing else could love me, not even, especially not me, or is that a lie the darkpassenger tells me. Because there are moments I feel connected to something else, someone, and it’s like the mask is slipping and things, people, that never mattered before, are starting to matter, it scares the hell out of me.