We are on a mission from god.
We might not agree, which god or which mission, but definately on a misson.
106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark and we’re wearing sunglasses.
And crawling, on the planet’s face, some insects, called the human race. Lost in time, and lost in space… and meaning.
Viel Spass!
