It was always a summer’s afternoon until it wasn’t and then it got cold and dark very quickly. The rain fell and the harvest rotted in the fields and we’d made no provision for leaner months, partly because we were fucking idiots and partly because no one had ever shown us how but that one has a limited shelf life as far as excuses go in this day and age with YouTube and everything – the combined expertise of a world full of bungling amateurs is there for you to plunder, anything from your latest cancer diagnosis to how to replace the flush mechanism in a European toilet. But we failed to thrive much beyond the womb, like the essential, primal spirit just kind of stuttered out and the fruit wilted on the vine. Turned out there was only so far we could reach, and that turned out to be far shorter than we’d imagined, and that drove us all mad, forever. The journey wasn’t even that long. We’d barely hopped on board before they were kicking us off at the side of the road into the maddest orgy in the history of humanity with people indulging in the kind of depravity you could only accommodate in your provincial little mind as the merest, oblique imagining if someone knocked a few interior walls down to give it room to move, for about five minutes, before dying, horribly.