If you’re rocking the neonate up and down, leave the upper body alone and bend at the knees. Drive through the heels and give the big muscles of your horse half something to do. You are now a filthy new monster, filling up pages of a cozy fantasy of epic draining the shelves. You’re relieving the pressure, bending, swaying; her back is a snare drum in dimly lit Osaka neo noir. You are a doll of a fatherbaby that deserves every last drop of Fernet rubbed on the souls of your feet.