I still don't know what to do so I do nothing and become nothing. No one, son of nobody.
Bereft of a past, noislessely falling into whitewashed future.
"What cracker is this same that deafe our eares with this abundance of superfluous breath?" Ñ- William Shakespeare, King John, Act II, Scene 1, 1594.
Everything tastes better when it sits on a Ritz.