There is no taking back your act of betrayal. Now you want a hit of that wine to make the sorrow go away. Poor little possum, you'll miss the good times you had together. They pass the cute little thing around the circle till it gets back to you. "Peel him up, kid. Get a crabapple for his mouth." You look for your graffiti knife in your pocket but it is gone. You pull out a tweezers and a protractor and a set of measuring spoons. Finally some coot grabs the possum away from you and peels him up in about three seconds. There isn't much left under that possum costume and you hope to get at least one good bite before it goes around the circle the other way. Finally you are presented the cooked possum. You take a tender bite. These old coots know how to cook. What is that, coriander? Underneath a lemon zest? Braised with a tangy molasses vinaigrette? You wish you had brought another and another possum, because when it comes back around there is nuthin' left but gristle and a tail. You gnaw off the tail and pass the gristle. A hand is on your shoulder in a way that tells you some sort of wisdom is about to be passed down. "You shouldn't've eaten that tail. Soul of a possum is located in the tail. Uses it to hang upside down while it conjures and meditates. A good possum can do good, but an evil possum, well I don't want to get into that. And thus the soul and powers of the possum are transferred. You got to use its powers, kid." Where do they find these guys? "What exactly can a possum do? How can I use its power?" "Play dead." says the fellow, fading into the darkness. This ominous command has enough threat in it to frighten to death even the toughest fellow in town. You, of course, never stood a chance. THE END