Violently Fucking Volcanic

"Everything is a test," he says. "Does it have to be," I asks. "I am twenty-six," I says. "You are a hustler. I can tell," he says. Maybe, when I have to be, to survive. Which is only: every moment, waking or otherwise, otherwise you et leftovers, or not at all. Don't get me wrong: I don't have a cause, except my own. Now burn, Baby, burn into my brain: you, shilouetted by the umbrella with a smoky halo and a wide smile. Commodify!