When we get close to our house the little guy sticks his hands and feet up and starts saying "woo!" What he wants is to go for a ride in this thing. Underdogs are his favorite.
It's not Sunday and this isn't brunch. Mutilated fucking anchovies, rabbit food, mayonnaise and stale bread... that's what's for dinner.
Everything runs out of time. Today was the end of the line for this guy. At least for it's intended purpose. Maybe we'll see it in some art down the line.
