Epilogue: A sound off from simple people with simple theories. F***ing up, but articulate, with a feeble grasp of arithmetic. Fueled by false determination, and the final breath of a declining nation. Where do you think that the remedy is? And why do you think it even exists?
This building is falling down.
Paradox: A nodding off from imploding circles with no direction. Take a look in the f***ing mirror, and ask yourself who the enemy is. Last call at the gas pump. Last call at the water pump. Who do you think are your f***ing friends? Who do you think are your f***ing friends?
