You glance around, watching, waiting. Look at the people, at their nice new clothes, their shoes without any holes, their skin with meat instead of bone. Look at them, watch them, ‘cause they’re better then you are, boyo.
This cosmic dance of bursting decadence and withheld permissions twists all our arms collectively. But, if sweetness can win, and it can, then I'll still be here tomorrow to high-five you yesterday.