Peeping-Tom at the Window

Are you one of the three-out-of-five Americans who have seen, heard or intuited a peeping-Tom (hereinafter referred to as PT)? PTs get as much respect as atheists (who’ll tell you that morality needs no God and, if you stand still too long, will further impart that God’s perpetual watching makes your religious morality less impressive than their might-get-away-with-it morality). And who wants their daughter bringing home to the parents a PETA vigilante who grimly informs them over Coq au Vin that horrifically-farmed chickens are shackled and conveyed upside-down and terrified to the circular saw. PTs, then, are easily bettered in evil, their circle of Hell no more than a daily cold dousing, one assumes not unlike the English weather, and they are to be pitied their risky endeavors when far more graphic stuff (I’m told) freely abounds on the Internet. Paul Kirk, a librarian PT is the doubtful hero of my novel, Boiled Peanuts and is a likeable guy, once you abandon your PT scruples. While he is too modest to consider himself a paragon, the truth is that, some have benefited from his night-time vigilant citizenry. I urge you to read this book if you think your daughter might bring home a PT.
Not that I advocate rushing outside to drag in a PT to meet your bookish daughter, almost always it’s nothing but a skunk in the garbage or a stink-bug scratching at the window-screen.

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