We held our legs parallel to the ground - urethane cartographers of this small mid-atlantic town. You were stuck in the mid-west making signs for opposing teams. Do our lives now live up to all our dreams? Do we write it in our skin, indelible? "SK8 or Die," "f**'n Go," "Don't Give Up Hope," I guess I don't know. Or maybe we'll a**ert in binary. Dear diary, I wonder if words can make things real. I hope they might.