Quick, think of a line. Any line. Talk of tongues and blood and bones and gin. Talk of souls and villains and your own cliches. Black lace and champagne and theatre - I am mature yet? Classy yet? Have I buried my urban roots? Stop turning over old stones. If you have outgrown me, congratulations. I don’t need you, or anybody else(except You). I have words, coffee, and the potential for endless reinvention.