Makin Planz

These are the days, Danny, the good old days, so let's sculpt them in the image of what we'll one day want to see, because nostalgia's one of my weeknesses, my cheif weekness even, and I know i'll be old some day, dead some time after that, bed ridden at some point in between, becuase I smoke and drink and do too many drugs, and so will you, all three of those things, and we'll want to look back fondly on what we did in our twenties. Even now, at the age for which fat fucks in their forties feel nostalgic, I feel nostalgic for my childhood, my precious youth spent playing cricket and hide and seek in the park, and i feel sad about the things i didn't do. It's a problem of mine, an illness of the mind, but one i need to take into account when planning for my old age, because it's not the kind of thing that i can kick. So, here's what I propose. Come back to America and we'll let New York chew us up and swallow us, then we'll roll down the esophogus of central america - by train, by car, by magic school bus - until we reach the belly of south america - columbia, brazil, venezuela - fat and distended, where we'll let ourselves digest and bounce around until we get squeezed into the long slender intestines that are Argentina and Chile, and we'll stay there, tucked away in some absortive fold, until we've got nothing left to give and we're shat back into the world with a purpose.