You have this terrific fear. You are weak and you are of no consequence. You think it is important that people like you. They never like you and when they show the most distinctive displeasure, you cower like a sick little mouse, poisoned, about to die. Why don’t you go crawl into a valley of thick trees where you will never see the peoples’ expressions of disgust? Why don’t you? Please. Quit letting the others weigh on you. They won’t miss you. One day when they’re singing, they’ll be glad you’re gone. You could go fast, crash hard. Bonjour, m’lad.