I’m back, they’re all back.


I remember.
I’m not the household cleaner; I don’t need to do triple the chores.
I’m not a New Year’s pig either, destined to be slaughtered.
I’m not the field garlic-on-the-knife—cuttable whenever someone wants.
No more pretending, I’m laying it all out.
I’m the Wolf of Wall Street, I’m the king of domestic brands, I’m the messenger of light, I’m the heir of chips, I’m the memory godfather.
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