A lazy stoop-sitting evening. An organic urban lull. Sitting in calm, I worry that my vigor is waning; I worry my age will sink me into a catatonic state. How to learn to use this age that I am now. My drive force is switching engines. I can't figure out how to fuel this new power source. I worry that I will become my father--couch-sitting mud baking itself until it can sink down into the primordial ooze.