I am your sputnik, sweetheart. Dull and dignified. Salacious and delirious. Tired and uninspired. Chagrined yet defiant. I am saintly and shit and all that. I'm worth the whole damn bunch put together. Persistent in its existence, like a forgotten dangling thread hovering around your well-used favorite tee. Nein longer young, reflecting on the neue state of the world. Ignore me as I lay here spontaneously combusting and dreaming.