Now I know that I will die.
My body ages faster than the days, and not one sincere thought will nest in the brain of a half-formed mind.
I have pains where once lurked only folly.
I try to keep my head up.
I find it honourable to drink too much.
What is an honourable life but to do what is given a man to do?
I am given a black pond.
Eels.
Duckshit.
Trash.
The mad laughter of drunks.
