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Well, I don’t know, I feel like I am holding the world together with bailing wire, duct tape and glue. The eights is a series of bad wiring, faulty plumbing, disintegrating particle board, and leaky roofing. I suppose someone has to do it. Got some good men around now so maybe we, wait and uh women, yeah meant that too, well, folk that can help. We need security, workers, scavengers, greeters. Hell even got us a baby. Go figure. It’s a lot of work to fix up a life. I guess for me it is Serena that is the glue. I just not sure how to tell her I am still married. Um, maybe that don’t matter so much any more.