Before waking his morning I had a vision.

On the porch of a dingy house I saw Faldage, zmjezhd, and BranShea, sitting in heavy, hand-hewn, wooden chairs contemplating their navels. My young friends and I laughed and we drove by in our own upholstered flying chairs that had no wheels and no engine and needed no fuel.

"The sky is falling, get a horse!" We shouted.

But being a kindly sort, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness for my old, old, old, friends who somewhere along the way had forgotten that life is dynamic and swell.