Didn’t your mama teach you not to go around there? Everything moves in congruence, everything has light. Look for the old man with the withered face, who leans back and looks at you with the tired gaze, this is where your food will come from, and not because he likes you. The oranges will come up on this tired old earth, and when you look up at your mama, at the sky in the year washed-away, you’ll know, you’ll know what you’re in for.