You know how when you go to a piano room and you play so long that your fingers begin to tremble, like that of an old man, and you sing so hard, that your voice morphs to the crackle of a leaf, and you feel so much, that at 4 a.m., when the custodian comes a knockin', your body lays limp, but your eyes still a buzzing beak full of memory, and he/she says something like, "what have we here?" in that falsely baffled sort of way, that tells you he/she must be just as insane as you? You know, that.
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