Whether we're rocketing to a mysterious object halfway to the moon for the sake of a killer social media update, unwittingly treading the ruts left when our local folk hero decided to do some donuts in their MythMobile, or just kicking back on a Saturday night with our middle-aged fratboy doula while our hormones scrawl procreative crib notes on the inside of our wrist, we're either being nurtured by our livelihoods or trying to recover from them.
So then, pull an ergonomic task chair up to the ballad camp!
We're all peasants seeking our fortune . . . We're all layabouts with our gnoses to the gravestone.