Afterward

Truer words have ne'er been spoken than those you'll find here. And I've been guilty -- admittedly so -- of same in the past, in embarassingly overexposed fashion. So go ahead and direct your vitriol at me, you fucking cu...

But what happens when the entire works grinds to a fucking halt on the way to the 1:44? When you've just spent the evening with someone who gets you to thinking you might not have to reinvent the wheel? When you're waiting for the 1:44, but your head's on a train that left a half hour before? When you find yourself tooling around some bullshit newsstand in the middle of the night, looking for a magazine and wishing you weren't riding home alone?

What then?

You keep that shit to yourself, is what you do, because that's the way it works. That's damned well what you do.

Because sometimes, when you're holding pocket aces, it's best to slowplay the fucker.