You were not expecting him, yet there he is. Standing so proudly... in the moonlight. He would be in bed at this late hour, but night terrors of copyright infringement have left his mind zonked and his eyes bloodshot. The moonbeams, bouncing off his furrowed brow, begin to soothe his balding melon as he shuffles along. A lone streetlight casts light upon the myriad beads of sweat which have gathered upon his world-weary dome. The light refracts through his forehead sweat, creating a heavenly rainbow, which, for but a precious moment, shines so brightly before his eyes. He is reborn. He is infinite. He is Danzig in the Moonlight.