Here's what I can tell you. The night was shading toward late, the June air outside my screen door was blue-black and humid and the grey grass beneath that night was long, moist tendrils because I aint cut it and it was late. I was watching a cowboy film and then I just sat there drinking Dos Equis and feeling kind of arid.

Tell us about the android and the mutant some more Mott and the magic guitar player headed for the mountains. If it takes place 3 hundred years from now how can there still be an America. Oh there can be, fucker, there can be