You know... it's like when you get old and your hands begin to shake so badly you can hardly write: Pen's difficult to hold and pencil's crack with a silent move - L's leaning against each other like a pair of chopsticks dropped on a plate of fried rice. Forget spoons - soup may be warm on your table and ready to eat, but who would be able to catch it? Suddenly forks and knives become a difficulty: dangerous objects we're not allowed to pick - just like when we were small kids. Strength fades from under the knees, legs feel like jelly - belly's still there, that's for sure; but somehow we can't feel it. It's the heat that comes in waves and bathes every single bone of your body - it aches, it sours, it cries, but still... it's good. You need just to look at that particular face, standing still in front of you and say "Today is your lucky day 'cause I'm here to save you". Then you can finally get that awful mirror cleaned and go out with a sense of freedom in your heart. Keep it cool, my baby!