see you at the dust-up.
was about to write how he was broken by sfit last night but then, bent and sore, he put his feet to the floor, crawled to the bathroom, and slipped into the shower. washing away the dirt and funk it came as revelation: sfit had not killed him; sfit had made him stronger. and though these war wounds ached today, tomorrow they would be battle scars from sfits past.
as the phoenix rises from the ashes so too do we, to spread across the sky our fiery wings.
