I realize, I realize that the shell’s empty, that there’s no point to any of this. It’s all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. A quarter pounder with cheese- those are good. The sky about…ten minutes before it starts to rain. The moment where your laughter becomes a cackle. And I sit back and I, I smoke my camel straights, and I ride my own melt.