And right before you are pierced by billions of invisible radioactive galaxies moving at light speed into your skull and through the winding catacombs of your mind, decimating every long summer day and unpaid electric bill. And right before cascading tiers of glossy magazines and shiny five-storey toothwhitened facelifted billboards all emit in unison one deep and final groan and tumble down cradleandall, neon polyethylene Vesuvius. And right before every non-biodegradable substance and subterranean waste dump becomes a glorious torch burnburnburning in fiery apocalyptic justice. And right after you sleepily realize there is nothing to be said and done (under a melting skyline arching and contorting its steel spine toward god) that is not already in some trite Hollywood movie. You look back. Comical Orphean caricature, eyes wild, hair singed. You look back. A quivering smile, elliptically parted lips.
“Oh.”