I know we’re largely sitting around having a hard time making plans for the future. Some of us don’t even know if there’s a future worth living in if there’s a future. That’s all well and good, obviously, I’m not the one to tell you how to live your life. Even though you can call me Pablo Prigioni because I have the secrets.
This world’s long walk may indeed be starting here and now on the last few planks of a short pier. Who knows? All we got is the peaty, cooling rubber air of dried whiskey burning the back of our tracheas and the pissed knickers we’ll walk home in.