We are renting our existence, and the question – why are you here – has nothing to do with landlords, and everything to do with all the voices of survival. I am here to be here. Among the rats. Among the criminals. Among the junk of abandonment and cars, they’re only cars, but they’re about as good as any abandonment where you stayed around for Tire Town or you went for the long walk with the men. Through the murmuring of disease we find an inflection that is outside of our internal selves. The guts of us. When you see what has been done to other species, turning them into little petrified rat skulls never the fuck you mind where any of that shit came from.