So it begins again. A pack of wolves numbering in the thousands, went on a rampage in Venice Beach. Coyotes would attack a car. The wolves had eaten all the dogs. The big cats ate the little cats. Mountain lions ate themselves. Migration was from here to there. Entire populations. Up against the wall. Everyone hated everyone. It was blood that told the news. Once a wardragon escaped his bottle, good luck to you. Chief Executive Officers had forgotten their own names. We had been poisoned. We had all been poisoned against a sky in skies. No one knew how to run a power plant. And if they did, they would have criminalized the entire structure of the thing. This was not the world your father told you anything about because he did not know it, and he would have strongly denied reality over and over again. It could not be happening. His reality was who he thought was right. My dad drank Irish Whiskey in bars that were older than the fall of Rome. So, it begins again. Nights asleep in the back of pickup trucks. My mouth was full of ashes.