theyWith absolutely no direction is precisely how he lived, livid and without delay. Free from the oppressive shackles of binding he would spring hither and thither, laughing out loud at his own image reflected in the silent night. Never looking down, often stamping on those smaller (however unwittingly or unwillingly), he sped through time, ceaselessly, seamlessly and fast. As fast as he could in fact, provided he was unhindered. It was the end of him, to be sure, this misshapen misfortune. Unfortunate to be sure, this idealistic ordeal. He lived his life as fast as he could, and no faster, though he certainly would have had the opportunity pres they
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Sta.sh
