April 21, my birthday. Last year in my thirties. Time to put aside childish things and become a man. Take the gangster rap to the flea market and stop trying to name the un-nameable art studio. Take off the Spiderman Halloween costume and start putting some bank in that retirement fund. Stop writing about bikes and squandering your miserly accruement of talent. Write about real things, like forced smiles and people walking grocery store aisles with eyes of quiet desperation. (they sigh as they grab the 2% and look with yearning at the Whole).
Practice is over, next year real life begins.