"Know what?" asked Barry.

  "What it's like when you sit onto your back and feel the total lack of control, that feeling you have when you've come to face time's smiling, peach-fuzzed, pimply jowls.

  "You'll look at time as irreverent graffiti, child-like scrawling lines, awkward, they no longer fit together, crumble, such that lines hurl in your head..."