I AM EVERYWHERE intoned DEATH. He instantly regretted it, now was not the time to be egotistical, even if it was true. He took the glass the Pestilence gave him.

I HAD MY WORK CUT OUT FOR ME THAT TIME, he added, the memories coming back. Whether in the past or present, people always seemed to want to murder each other. It was truly insane, their lives were short enough anyway, but it seemed to amuse the other Horsepeople.

YOU'VER CERTINALY COME A LONG WAY, POLLUTION, said DEATH, turning towards him, remembering Pollution's grime covered face with his hands clapsed together in supreme happiness at some oil spill or litter on the street.

Cradling the glass in his bony hands and gulping it down, he said, LET US IMBIBE LARGE AMOUNTS OF ALCOHOL.