You die in the middle of your life.

I feel like I might start crying and that I'm going to cry pee.

I leave, and the leaving is so exhilarating I know I can never go back. But then what? Do I just keep leaving places, and leaving them, and leaving them, tramping a perpetual journey?

Who am I to say that these things might nit be forever? Who is Peter Van Houten to assert as fact the conjecture that our labor is temporary?

You will not kill my girlfriend today, International Terrorists of Ambiguous Nationality!

Because you're my friend, wingnut.