It all started unravelling; his quietness, the reservation of his hands, his fear of coming off rude, the year without sex, the year of "No woman, no cry." He had wanted to scream his lungs out every one of the last 365 days, but only now for the first time did he choose to shout. He lets out a whoop that rings in the ears of innocent bystanders. For a second he catches himself giving an apologetic fuck, but the alcohol thins his blood and that feeling passes. He is now "Kit," master of the universe and possessor of the ring of fate. His eyes roll back as he closes his lids and what ever was left of his former self is devoured by the songs of his childhood. He dances viciously, as if the whole world were finally his.