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Out of context: Reply #768
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Strolling at dawn through our wrecked country estate, assessing evidence of last night's damage. In the driveway, the burnt out husk of a red 1972 Cutlass Supreme, crushed as if dropped nose first from a crane; a shredded mattress rotting in the fountain; on my hands, 2 blood-caked bandages where my thumbs used to be. Opposable thumbs: the last thing separating man from animal.
This is my land, though I have permitted a false king to destroy it. Even if it takes a lifetime, I promise to return it to its rightful state.