000002 #human 2002 Hey. If my finest hours on this earth consist of making symphonies for myself out of a bike ride through the parkway (the clipclipclip of tires over curled leaves, the sough of exhaust, a kid making soccer yells, two squirrels) and coming back here and trying to tell anyone who will listen all the stories my dead old sonofabitching best friend pumped into me, then that's fine, that's a song, that's a holler, art be damned.