Inside a broken clock
Splashing the wine
With all the Rain Dogs
Taxi, we'd rather walk.
Huddle a doorway with the Rain Dogs
For I am a Rain Dog, too
Chorus:
Oh, how we danced and we swallowed the night
For it was all ripe for dreaming
Oh, how we danced away
All of the lights
We've always been out of our minds.
The Rum pours strong and thin
Beat out the dustman
With the Rain Dogs
Aboard a shipwreck train
Give my umbrella to the Rain Dogs
For I am a Rain Dog, too.
Oh, how we danced with the
Rose of Tralee
Her long hair black as a raven
Oh, how we danced and you
Whispered to me
You'll never be going back home

You are The Star

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised

The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Number 42 sat at the end of the dark wood and pineapple painted hallway. It seemed perfectly innocuous from the outside, but the interior was quiet unique. Upon entering the eye would be again fooled, a cleverly laid “red carpet” to the obsession within. The vestibule was chock full of interesting accents. A finely constructed globe of varying metals, a telescope to its right, even a long bisected map of the world stretching in a panoramic view along the long narrow wall. It too was embossed in copper, gold, and silver, matching its round counterpart on the opposite side.

These things cleverly lured the visitors into the living room, and the real meat of the apartment. At the south wall stood a bookshelf housing a bounty of volumes varying from Schrödinger’s Theory to the Mothman Prophecies. Cubbied amid the shelves of books was a fish tank with a few mollies living blissfully unaware of the outside world in their habitat. Under the X-Taped window was a desk and a couch. It was on this couch that a man slept. He was fully dressed in a suit, the jacket slung over the back of his computer chair, his shoes off and resting before the coffee table.

The television was on, the sound lowered to a quite whisper displaying an infomercial for spray-on hair in a can. A tape was ejected from the VCR labeled “Ass lovers 64”. The lanky man was sleeping with a disjointed posture that labeled his obsession to the job perfectly. It wasn’t until the blare of his phone woke him that he roused with a groan. Fishing the cellular from under the sofa he depressed the talk button, and brought the oversized phone to his ear.
“Mulder,” he offered into the receiver.
“Mulder, you’re never gonna believe where the shots came from!” The man on the other end was excited and filled with an almost prepubescent eagerness as he spoke.
“Langly I’m not following you,” Mulder muttered, but the lone gunman continued unaffected.
“Beyers got some new footage o the JFK assassination.” A voice cut in from the background. “Tell him about the cheesesteaks…” frohikie interrupted.
“Oh yea, we’re gong out for cheesesteaks later if you want in.”
Mulder sat up more, rolling his shoulders, “Sure… I’ll give you a call after I get home from the office.”
“Off to see the illustrious Miss. Scully?” he heard Frohikie comment. Mulder ignored it.
“Alright, but you gotta see this footage man, this is making front page of the next issue,” Langly finished. The phone clicked dead and Mulder replaced it on the cradle. He was used to their phone etiquette, conspiracy theorists, it came with the territory. Langly and the rest of the Lone gunmen would have to wait, right now it was time to get a shower and head into the office.

After showering and changing into an almost identical suit he made his way into the kitchen, opening the fridge to peer inside. Sitting on the wire rack was a container of Sunny Delight. Hopeful, Mulder opened the lid and took a mouthful of juice. His face crumpled like a sour granny and he tasted the foul liquid. “Oh-fu-” he complained holding the juice in his mouth without swallowing. Tipping the container up he saw the sell by date and his throat practically collapsed as he read “sell by 95” stamped on the bottom. Spitting the juice back into the jug he re-closed it and shoved it back onto the empty shelf.