The train. The plane. The night. The light. The stop. The top. The knuckle-duster. Prints more money. Then I have in my account. Thank you to the cashier at Big W. Who tipped her? Over the bill of goods. Kudos to you. You make me want to leap up and down and smash The Moma-PS5 on my coffee table. Now that I think of it. We're not much together. I don't get to see her much. She's been on the screen a lot lately. A lot has happened. And I want to ask her about it. But all I get is monotone postcards of a bunch of old dead flowers.