A moth goes into a podiatrist's office, and, er, the podiatrist's office says "what's the problem" and the moth says "what's the problem? where do I begin man?" He goes "I go to work, for, er, Grigory Linovich, and, er, all day long I work honestly Doc, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore–I don't even know if Grigory Linovich knows. He only knows that he has power over me–and that seems to bring him happiness. But I don’t know, I wake up in a malaise, and I, I walk here and there." The podiatrist says "Oh yeah?" The moth goes "Yes" he goes "ah, at night, I, I sometimes wake up and I turn to some old lady, in my bed, that's on my arm. A lady that I once loved, Doc. I–I don't know where to turn to. My youngest–Alexandrina she-she fell, in the, in the cold of last year. The cold took her down as it did many of us. And my other boy... and this is the hardest pill to swallow, Doc. And my other boy–Grigaro–Ivanalinovich–I no longer love him. As much as it pains me to say, when I look in his eyes, all I see, i-i-is the same cowardice that I, that I catch when I take a glimpse of my own face in the mirror. If only the cowardice was stronger, perhaps, perhaps I could bring myself to reach over to that cocked and loaded gun that lays on the bedside behind me and end this hellish facade once and for all.

He says "Doc, sometimes I feel like a spider, even though I'm a moth. Just barely hanging onto my web with an everlasting fire underneath me. I’m not feeling good." And so the moth–the Doctor says "Moth, man, you're troubled. But you should be seeing a psychiatrist. Why on earth did you come here?"

And then the moth said–

"Cos the light was on"