Well, I don’t happen to have my copy of the original on my person at this moment, so I’ll have to take their word for it that this has been remastered. Just like I’ll take the President’s word for having fired me: if he says it’s Russia, then it’s Russia. If he says it flying, then it’s flying. Show me the traffic pattern. Tell me it’ll make me money. Scream it into my good ear. Tell me it’ll bring prestige. My signature in ink, but not in blood. I will sign on for a time until I get totally fed up with the inflexibility of the close quarters.
And yes, I will bleed for the cause of self-improvement. I am prepared to put myself through the ringer. However, I should note that if you take me at my word, then shame on you, no matter how many times I fool you. You don’t have to grapple with the devil to know that you have to watch your own hide when you grapple. As we enter into this partnership—sunset or no sunset, sky full of drones or sky full of no drones—you watch your back and I’ll watch mine.
But wait, if the whole damn sky is full of drones then how am I going to be able to see the sky out on a country drive? Or is a drone an in-town thing?
Is there country music and is there town music? That’s what I’ve been wondering because I used to take him at his word when that Longfellow would say, “Music is the universal language of mankind,” but then I wasn’t so sure. Thankfully, Shaw was around to tag it on that yes, “Though music be a universal language, it is spoken with all sorts of accents.” And then nobody had anything else to say on the matter ever since. Phew.
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