only_when megan when success sounds like the cackling of an old woman dragging a clanging metal garbage can behind her, thinking she has found her loot finally, when really all that's in there is a murdered man and a crust of dry bread... when love tastes like chapped lips and wind swollen cheeks holding a cardboard sign begging for work with a look of embarrassment in his eyes but a source of hope in his heart that maybe his family will have a little meat come winter... and when truth smells like old leatherbound books set out to burn in the village square because their knowledge is no longer useful in this galloping world, musty, dusty, waiting... only then is when we know we are truly living in the same world as all the rest cling 050102 what's it to you? who go blather from