This is me (TJ). But I'm actually much more (Timothy John). Without (Wehrley) my identity is soggy. Wet-naps are similar to a (TJ) without (Wehrley), smells sweet, but tastes of soap. Or alcohol. On a good day, both. Without (Wehrley) I break tables, shattered glass reflecting the bitter glow of the sun as if to say, "I will never be without a job." I think the moral of this rambling is that the sun can be a real dick. He comes in waves (of light) but he always seems to be taunting me. Like, "hey dude, bet YOU couldn't keep the solar system in check!" Well sun, I'm here, now, aggressively waving my white flag. But I'll be back. Mark my words.