Last year, with In Words, I attempted to improve and grow as a writer by describing passing moments and scenery subjectively. This morning, as I orbited a tiny patch of human habitat, I was struck with the fact that Fortune was with me, albeit in cruel guise. With every lighting bolt that travelled from heel to hip as I went about the thrice daily ritual of learning to walk in the winter of life, on a wintry day weeping with night-clung ice, it occurred that this tiny plight of mine is in perfect sync with the plight of my paleface kind.

I shall strive to conduct this year's exercises from that perspective as the shrill calls to hate myself for the heritage to which I was born rise up over the pyre of ideals that is my hateful hometown—HARM CITY.