I am unexceptional; as common as thrush and other direct-to-consumer complaints. Once, when walking home at night, I came across a burst drain shooting water thirty feet into the air. Enthralled, I got as close as I could to the jet, to the noise of too much traveling too fast, to the pleasure of pressure, but was pulled back by a stranger, stopped short before my head was snapped right off from the force and flung like a football, unreachable, to the nearby roof of Kelvin Hall. Because it’s true a neck is nothing, just a twig compelled to carry thoughts like, what do they do to babies to make them cry in movies?