Anger gets us nowhere listeners, and yelling at clogged traffic and heavy cops who think they control my city and bad transport and blood-splattered days on world markets and 4-wheel drive machines clogging parking spots, these all just leave us agitated and sweaty and in need of a hot cup of earl grey and a rubdown from a warm and friendly masseuse who is not immune to knowing how to relax a hyped-up jock. It's time to get the shortboards home to their bunkhouse and close down the HC studio. It hasn't been a night to remember but as long as the sun comes up tomorrow and uncle Larry can drag these legs into some form of an upright form then things are OK. Money? It's just paper. I live to wipe with it another day.
