[ WP ] When you go to sleep and dream , you are a monster in other people 's dreams . You have unwillingly terrorized other people your entire life .

Mr. Harrigan's eyes were glazed and bloodshot again. I could see the grease on his nose glistening and making his glasses slide down his nose. Another rough night. He gives me the number four. A sort of disinterested superior look. My favorite is the number two, the sunny smile, not one I get to see very often. Most of these rich pricks opt for the number one, the harried, half nervous, half irritated look most people get when walking through security check points. See I'm a security guard. `` Guard'' is perhaps an overstatement, mostly I just check the IDs of accountants and brokers. Sometimes I get to remind someone to take their keys out of their pocket or whatever, but mostly it's monotony. Thank God for my night job. Which brings me back to poor Mister Harrigan. 
 For as long as I can remember I've been a part of people's nightmares. There are more like me. We're sort of a balance to the scales of life. You've probably heard someone say something along the lines of `` yeah he's rich and powerful, but can he sleep at night?'' Well if he ( or she ) earned their wealth through deception or coercion they probably do n't. It's people like me you have to thank for that. Every night when I drift off to sleep I do n't awaken at my hug school graduation, or soaring through the clouds, I wake up as some rich guy's bogeyman. Some nights I'm a werewolf. Some nights I'm just a vague black blur ( probably symbolic of death of some such, but the fuck do I care ). For poor Mr. Harrigan I appear as, well, it's embarrassing, and let's leave it at that. 
 Most of my nighttime `` customers'' work in finance. Several of them even work in this building. I see them walk past every day, grinning to myself over a night or chasing, or chewing, or mocking our city's oligarchy. Do n't look at me like that. I only show up if you really deserve it. If you decided that wealth insulates you from morality, from fair play. 
 A woman passes by and flashes me look four, but a more feminine variation. I recognize her. Granted when I devoured her with arms made of sharks she was n't wearing the thousand dollar Michael Koors pant suit, or the Versache pumps, or the arrogant smirk. Strange, but it takes all kinds I guess. Rumor has it she broke a million this year. Mostly from payday loan investments, and other usury related businesses. Perhaps that's why she fears sharks? 
 I watch Mr Harrigan stare impassively as the elevator doors close in front of him for the third time. He must really be out of it, last night was a doozy. But honestly, who the fuck is scared of cheerleaders?
