There is nothing really to complain about as long as you remember a couple of nice things in the woods. The trees are tall. They fall like they mean it. And what do you mean? Well, as the riff starts one thought begets. Hockey, some manner of blood sport and biking. In that order. Why? Ask billy. And forget what kind of a name that is. Things look up as long as you keep your eyes toward the sky. You needn't bother yourself with all that other jazz around upon the dearth. The weeks come, the weeks go and when they are gone you will miss them, like one misses an orange. Possibly an apple. Depending on the season and what your propellant is.
Oranges disintegrate at speeds well below mach. Sadly. Bar your doors, cover your windows and stick to the woods. Then the world's possibilities of options will unfold to your confined domicile. It's like imagination in isolation. An entire week filled with the best things life can bring. The squirrels come pouring from off the trees and the bunnies shoot out of their woodland hutches all to wish you a happy birthday.
Problem is it's... not real.
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