A ratty tall armchair rescued from the thrift store discard bin supported the thinker thin and crusty cut underneath the ear from rustwire on the hurdle fence between here and cheerleader/jock rendezvous hank panky log spot by the dammed creek. Lockes released and swelled like anxiety replaced by nice thoughts of a pilgrimage to Jamaica reggae boy ooohh that’s where he made that music in that studio wow history relived. Relief from the scrolling that has no chill and even less rhythm for chopped grooves that sound so tasty even from an old imac. Is escapism valid? If not then validity gets scribbled out of our dictionary to complete the iconoclasm. Where to now? Crusty kid made it over the fence and is hurling dog turds at the cheerleader/jock with backup from other thin crusty thinkers. This is the pinnacle, you can take off the ripped ski mask.