Cesspools of evil and sin.

I'm still convinced that there are hidden areas beneath New York city filled with gatherings for secret cults and rituals, or grounds for the rendezvous of otherworldly beings, or dirty cesspools of evil and sin deviantly practiced by humans so perverse and deranged that only a civilized society could create them. Personally, this doesn't trouble me. I admit, I'm not really bothered by evil and sin, so long as it doesn't affect me. If these evil cults try to capture me and put me on an arcane stone altar and try to impale me through the chest with some sort of sado-phallic torture wand, then the evil has become personal and I do take their very presence as a personal affront. But fortunately for me being neither female nor virgin, I am a less popular victim. Because most underground cults and satanic paganists (or other worshippers of evil superbeings and Lovecraftian deities) have remained fairly insulated from the recent advances in equal rights and feminism, they tend still to be patriarchal, androcentric organizations. As well, because they have been insulated themselves from much of the post-modern and pre-existential dissimulations and deconstructions of traditional metaphysics, they still hold on to a rather dated notion of purity and its respective superiority over impurity. Hence, this explains their predilections, still extant after all these years, for female virgin sacrifices. So, unless there's some radical questioning of their traditional values in their ranks and they start to believe that the elimination of female virgins is a terrible waste since there really aren't enough to go around (and there seem to get fewer and fewer and younger and younger as the years go by) and they instead start pursuing, for their sacrifices, ugly white guys who've barely had enough sex to make them not virgins (which makes a lot more sense), then I'm safe, and I don't have to fret myself over the spreading pestilence of evil brewing just below the sidewalk. So, as long as unlikely change in victims occurs, the evil is just something to think about when you're sitting down counting your change and a quarter falls out of your hand and rolls down the sidewalk and falls into a grate and you can see where it lands and think to yourself, "if I put my whole arm through that grate, I can just reach it." I, personally, would let the quarter go, and would consider it as an offering to one of those indifferent super-beings that occasionally pass into our world and reek havoc on small New England towns. Maybe these beings will, in fact, not look derisively down upon our primitive form of exchange through currency made of cheap metal, and will in fact take it as a symbolic token of appreciation so that one day when Manhattan is being callously trampled upon by an other-dimensional being in a spirit of playful abandon akin to an eight-year-old destroying an ant hill, then this thing will see me and remember the quarter and step over me instead of upon me. You never know.
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