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... and the marauders are still kings of the surface. It's no longer the underworld, it's the overworld. Those with sense hide as long as possible from the bastards and dirt hounds who kill for fun and maim in the name of love.

"Hoops. Let's shoot some." said the Admiral. Moments later, the bomb dropped and stripped the world of life. Left over are the remnants and human scum who are vile enough to do what it takes to survive against other equally vile beings.

Sage advice from the building with the tube trains mounted like a hat. As I walked past I had cause to pause and identify the discourse known only to the author. I endure only those who I don't adore.

In the grand scheme of things I haven't known Dave for very long. A mere gush in the tears of life, but, for every day I know Dave it feels like a lifetime. Sometimes, it's a lifetime of torment as I wait for him to validate something I've done, or said, in order that I might feel good about myself, knowing that Dave thinks it's acceptable. Fewer times it's a lifetime of mourning as I wait to see if there is a window in the busy schedule of a life Dave leads and find there isn't. Most times, it's a lifetime of joy as Dave is one of the few people who can make me belly laugh until it's painful, if I saw him too much, I might die of a hernia. Dave is a tormented creature; the soul of a writer rammed inside the body of a programmer. You can feel the writer smashing down the doors of the programming dungeon more often than not now, with frequent 140 characters of bubbling prose.