I sold the shop, finally, after forty goddamn years, and everyone said 'oh, you'll love the freedom!' Freedom? This ain't freedom, this is… a prison of quiet. My kids are gone to college, the house is a tomb, and my wife, she's like a roommate I sometimes remember marrying. We chase this idea of 'making it,' of retiring, and then what? What the FUCK do you do when the daily grind was the only thing holding your whole goddamn life together, huh? It's like I ripped the engine out of my own car and now I'm just… coasting into oblivion.