This is the soundtrack I am listening to as I write Reverent Chandler. When I wake up tomorrow morning, after having slept snug on the 15-year old futon mattress on the floor to my right, as opposed to staying out until the bar closes and butchering Tyrone, Jamal and Skittle when they try to rob me behind the old church, I will—Hags of Fate willing—instead slither into this chair and write about a vision I have concerning the last of my kind, while listening to this...