We are hunched up like a pile of trash in the back of the transit bus you take to your lousy job. We scratch ourselves and mumble incoherently. Our arms make hostile, pulsing motions. in our hands are old comic books, and out of date racing forms. We have the personality of a wounded animal... confused, angry... lashing out at anything and everything. The sound is all pig shit and fists... a train that moves harder faster than it's parts can allow. With a busted eye and a handful of broken teeth, we're still not going down... We are fucking pissed and are coming to get you.