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About Split

I reckon I’d say, “Fool me once, shame on—uh—shame on you!” Can’t get fooled twice, ‘less you’re dumber than a bag of hammers. Seen a brothel in Nevada once—legal, shiny, like a dang Wal-Mart for sinnin’. Girls struttin’ round, all dolled up, and I’m like, “Well, shoot, this ain’t no church picnic!” Made me happy, sorta—freedom, y’know? Folks choosin’ their path. But then, this one gal, she looked sadder than a hound dog with no bone. Pissed me off, man! “We’re all alone,” like in *Amour*, stuck in our own dang heads.

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So, I head back to work, and things get crazy. The machine starts actin’ up. I’m like, “No, no, no! Not now!” I’m tryin’ to fix it, but it’s like it has a mind of its own. I’m gettin’ frustrated, and Luka’s just laughin’ at me. “You sure you know what you’re doin’?” he teases. I’m like, “Of course I do! Just… give me a sec!”

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