Under glass I can’t afford your painted paradise. so nice, but is it really worth the price of admission, your compromised position. We had a blast and talked all night about the things that shaped our past (or maybe not). My guess is we were barely under construction. Fine tuning in some way defied by the left side. Oh, please excuse our dust handrails on the right side. One day when I was eight years old a bright red Camaro flew by. Now that was the guy that I thought that I wanted to be at that time. Contract and step back. Start losing contact. Here comes the slapback. Broken glass I can’t afford to think of myself last and never find that touchstone’s light that shines and puts the faith in my eyes.