So you pull your flesh over your blood shot eyes and try to sleep awhile. And all so you can keep a smile for an hour after waking.

Sorry to disappoint, sorry I didn't point the path your disfigured feet ought to romp.

Can we still shake hands and say we're friends?
Probably no, definitely no.

We annoy each other like those well dressed, two by two cyclists in every American neighborhood.

Pedal pedal, stop, then knock.
Doors never open, but they never stop.