Yes, indeed, that is my house that I am carrying around 

on my back like a bullet-proof shell and yes, that sure is

my little dog walking a hard road in hard boots. And 

just wait until you see my girl, chomping on the chains

of fate with her mouth full of jagged steel. She’s damn

ready and so am I. What else did you expect from the 

brainiacs of my generation? The survivors, the nonbelievers, 

the oddball-outs with the Cuban Missile Crisis still 

sizzling in our blood? Don’t tell me that you bought 

our act, just because our worried parents (and believe me,

we’re nothing like them) taught us how to dress for work

and to speak as if we cared about our education. And 

I guess the music fooled you: you thought we’d keep 

the party going even to the edge of the abyss. Well,

too bad. It’s all yours now. Good luck on the ramparts.

What you want to watch for is when the sky shakes

itself free of kites and flies away. Have a nice day.