The world is boiling. With its dicks and cunts and assholes. And then there are the flowers. They’re struggling to grow through the pavement. Grasping for air and pearls of rain. Then there are the gods … Kurt Cobain was killed by silence. John Lennon was killed by a loner. The free birds were killed in a plane crash. Our daughters are looking for fathers in the darkest corners. The mothers are binging Chardonnay in the suburbs. The fathers have gone mad. And here I am. A drunkard in a torched world.