And so it goes, as Vonnegut used to say. Wracked, wrecked, gastronomically flecked with gold my brain’s untold contents unfold mortgage and rents my lease on life I’m off to work for kids and wife. And me. Yes, I guess, I also do this for me. Ham and swiss croissant, bacon wrapped sausage, the pork does haunt, but I’m not ready to start a fitness regime, food booze sleep (something that rhymes with regime) seem, deem, gleam, it’s nothing but a bewildering dream.