A splitting headache, I roll over in bed, busting out of the house through a hole in the wall, frozen to death on the hottest June or July since my days in the desert. Hadn’t seen anyone in years, amphibians run amuck. Boisterous, clumsy frogs in the penthouse upstairs jive while some asshole is making dinner. With the rage of all “adult” hubris crushing down on the only few good things left in this world, I chew my beard until they die of arrogance or the mailman comes, all laughing horrendously at the great mess they’ve caused all of us, while crying out, “It wasn’t me!” Now, only the guilty sleep in peace. The honest suffer. There is no accountability. No thoughtfulness. What of the last subservient kings? What you thought you thought was wrong all along.