That's not the sun, little island, you better run than I said, it's not right.

You've crossed over to spout.

Stay true.

I'm in my house. Sitting on my couch, having such a very good time, just eating a sandwich.

A rare moment of tranquility, of peace of joy, minding my business.

Then I hear sharp, angry knocks.

Hold on!

Get up,

open the door.

And it's a dear friend of mine.

She says, you know what your problem is?

That's a big question.

Existential, my problem.

I have so many, many problems.

The single out just one only makes mock of the others.

My problem.

Even beginning to list them on a piece of paper makes me grow weary

And I'm thinking all this to myself

And I remember she's still standing here

Angry, upset, my dear friend

And it occurs to me that her question is rhetorical

That if I just wait a little bit longer

...