From the moment I met M., and he glowed in heightening rhetoric, an avid viewer of the Laci and Scott Peterson story, I knew he was a special guy. Together we share hour upon hour of televised real-life crime drama, thanks to CNN’s lack of interest in actual news, and shows like CSI, various CSI spawn, Criminal Minds, and a myriad of Laws and Orders.

M. has discovered a new thrill. Dexter, a Showtime show he bought on DVD. Dexter, an unassuming and cheerful serial killer with a purpose and a code. I haven’t seen M. quite so happy with the old television for a while.

What does it all mean?

(The saving grace, I guess, is what he himself pointed out. It’s good to be with a man who’s trunk is too small to contain your corpus.)