Past is no guarantee of future thrum and harder rumble, hey and whoa, how awful, how much are you exercising to circumvent compulsory selfies, nonprecious cargo between the cracks, obsessions with a smear of wet mulched chickpeas? I can’t get into specifics, because it’s too verbal a compromise. I know I am next, I’m flapping my arms in front of me.

And I’m afraid of being abducted.

At the very top motion is pink and mapped. So be ready.