These streets are familiar. I’ve walked down them so many times. They change, as they should, tugging at my own indifference and stubbornness. I’ve put so much time in. I keep waiting to be killed off. But the lighting isn’t right. There’s another season. I need to usher in a new character. Maybe better looking, though perhaps not as charming. The importance stemming on something new. This dramatic moment and idea needs better direction. There is more work for you yet. I thought there would be just that right moment when the final scene takes place. And then maybe the production can get interesting. You can laugh. It can be helpful. I just wander endlessly wondering what all this talk of hell was about that dominated my beginning.