Goin' home

-Part XI-

Been wondering what the heck are we supposed to do here. I'm not you. I'm not myself. I'm not your saviour, not your boss. I'm not your daddy —though someone has to be. I'm clueless as the rest of the race, and one of them few to admit to it.

So, I was saying, I'm not here to make you comfortable. I'm not here to explain myself. I'm not here to give you hope or to guide you, and certainly not to tell you what to do next.I'm not here to abuse you. I thought we could just get along. A little chit-chat here, a pint there.

Got to see my I.D.? What do you mean? Need to know my smell or something? Wanna tag me? Oh, I see. It'a a friggin' anthropologic experiment for ya. I'm your, like, subject. A guinea pig. A mutant groundhog who's about to tell you if your misery is about to end or you'll have two more decades of it. Well, I'll think about it and decide if I tell you wether I see my shadow.

Second thoughts abou the race, you know. Maybe we're worthy the puniest time we'll float around here. In the corner.