I wear a different head every day. Depending on my mood, I might screw on an apple, a bull’s head, or a porcelain llama with a spider web of hairline cracks. I drink coffee from the husk of an unwanted moon. Slice open a mountain and scoop out the liver. I commune with a man with an aquarium for a stomach. Dine with artistic bears. There’s plenty of excitement: every phoneme is a printing press churning out landscapes to step into. I’m a walking fruit machine with bags of coins rattling in my cheeks. The trees open their palms whenever I pass. My fortune has never beaten faster than yours.