It's a dead day on the tracks; late August of 2005.  You were with your girlfriend on Wreck Beach.  Someone sold you a hash brownie, but it was laced with extacy. You traded in your girlfriend for a half-case of beer and some fries, but the delivery never came.  Next morning you were writing your mother a letter of forgiveness from San Quentin.

Sometimes, large chunks of our memory go missing.  If you listen enough to Coast-To-Coast AM, you'll lose even more.  Then at one point, nothing matters.  Even Prison Food starts to taste OK.

THEORY: FR8OPHILE - "I Feel Sick", 2000.  Wow.  5 years old and don't look a day over 2.   Krylon on your Nylon.