Imagine your plan had gone belly-up.
Imagine by now you’d predicted my divorce.
Imagine by now you’d fair thought the new regime would be clean in place and pretty wrought.
Imagine by now you never imagined the fucking stupid circumstance we all goddamn find this you and this me fucking bloody in.
And imagine by now you had desperately figured, for sure, that no more damage could be inflicted on this subject – this me! – of your considerably foolish, unholy balls-up.
Well imagine some more, if so sure you are: where choose do you to not give way at all, the hurt and harm you’ll still inflict will – one day soon – return your way, and say dear friends, I’m wrong or not, say dear friends, or what.
Say dear friends, it ain’t your quandary.
Say dear friends, just say.