In the dark, there's the sound of a key in a lock, teeth probing for the fit that will turn the doorknob. The front door to the house cracks open—a beam of moonlight shining in, silhouetting a large, round-bodied figure. The figure tiptoes across the carpeted floor, very nearly stumbling over a stool by the computer table but hopping awkwardly over it on one foot. The beige carpet is almost black in the darkness. The figure reaches a door across the room, opens it, and steps inside. Outside, a llama quietly munches the lawn.
A finger reaches for the light switch in the second room, flicks it on.
Strong Sad stands in the doorway of his room.
He walks over to his computer, boots up, and checks his email.
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Some things never change, no matter how far you travel to find your greatest fan.