Oh yes, he's seen the black pupils of time's eyes. Two dark drains in a pair of dirty gas station bathroom sinks. The faucet's open and he's gurgling down the pipes, gushing toward whatever tank he's bound to swirl around in for the rest of his life. There's no telling from here if that's a realm of purification or of shit. There's only one way to find out, and that's to ride it all the way down.

It's nice to be able to do things for other people, isn't it?That's why it's fun to talk in the third person sometimes.

They tugged plans and ambitions out their asses and held tight to the first that didn't smell so strongly of shit.

Preferring the nausea of the path to its fated and certain ending.