(cracking whist)

My brain is the last leg spurned from the derby.

Days later.

Hours on.

And we're here and fucking vibrant as hell despite the shakes. the stunted wondering how the fuck it is that we've come this long and no one dares call it in anymore. not that we ever did (though i might have once or twice). nor that we ever will as our long teeth approach. as our hair grows thin and our pants fall short.

Because this is fucking friendship.

This is fucking kin.

Perfect miscreants stumbling in and out of the shadows screaming something about beer and tits. firestorms. love and controversy.

And i'm better than ever in the thick of it.

Because my titles are dead now. my references are late. and i'm nothing but a dumb kid scraping his way along the pack to mark the right side of the end.