Sometimes
there are not enough hours in the day to fit in all the work they want to put in my way so I chill and take time out to recall another fall, one time, the bread line, that me which was me for a long time and suddenly I find that the hours fit into the day just fine.

I'm going to meet Don,
Quixote or Corleone
it depends on the book.

And I moan when I think it's not all about me but it's all about me and any fool can see that except for this **** who's writing this twaddle.