Paul is a monster that stands outside of my apartment. He wears a mohawk and GG Allin t-shirt that he ripped on purpose. Paul is unsure if the hair and shirt are a communication of his inner reality or just performative. His friends tell him punk rock is dead and he struggles with whether or not he is truly his authentic self until he's dragged into a courtroom in monster world and tried for being a poseur which is a capital offense. Through the power of friendship, he realizes that the performance is a part of his authentic self and that the act of searching for authenticity is both authentic and inauthentic. He is found probably not guilty but definitely not innocent. The trial concluded months ago and now he stands outside of my sliding glass door with tentacles for eyeballs judging me. But I don't blame him because it's just who he is. Classic Paul, am I right?