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Summary
There is a great sense of irony in preying upon a predator. Perhaps, in doing this, I am no better than him. Perhaps I am to do little more than sink to his level, well deep beyond where any human hands ought to dig. I, soon enough as it comes to be, snuff the thought. I know how the night will go. He will run, like shaken swine, far as his fat little legs will carry him, I will shortly find him, and I will kill him. A sex pest, and a murderer; it’s only fair he gets a taste of his own medicine.
