By Boris Salvador Ingles
By Boris Salvador Ingles

By Ian Thompson

When Star Wars Episode I
came out, my Christian neighbor
wasn’t allowed to watch it
because his mom thought Darth Maul
looked a little too much like
Satan.  So for Halloween
that year, I dressed as Darth Maul
and chased the kid down the street,
yelling, “I’ll possess your soul!”
Years later, from the chaise lounge
in my therapist’s office,
I would recount this story,
marking it as the moment
I became such an asshole.

“Yeah, I didn’t really care
for the newer Star Wars films,”
my therapist responded.
“Now, the original three,”
he began, beaming as if
our session were over soon,
“those were classics, sheer classics.”

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