I remember the little men in big boots. The ones who sat at the edge of roof tops in a city called Loneliness, and cut their teeth while chewing jagged glass and angry truths. They parachuted down to earth and hit their heads on desperation. Hollowed out hearts with tree trunks serving as legs, they marched across the stratosphere until their existences neared zero. Nothing more to disappearing than popping some pills, falling asleep, and dreaming that the whole world had gone mad. The interesting part is when you wake up and you can still hear the echo of unfilled boots.