Sometimes I want to take my car and drive to the middle of a desert and get out and lay down and just stay there until something happens. Like a coyote eats me or a dust storm blows me away... I don’t know why I come up here all the time, maybe it’s like weird, free therapy for me. I’m sorry, I know that when I talk I *** people out... I think I’m poison. And maybe getting up here is like me cutting off bits of my infected self and sharing it with you. But the pieces are small so the poison’s diluted, so you get to go home ok. And I… I get to hurt a little bit less.