This book won’t justify your expectations. It is a complete dissonance with the already accepted reality—likely to outrage you. In the book, “the nineties” come out with bloody gang “slime,” while another gets gently caressed by a happy childhood. There are no dead, and therefore no understandable meanings. There is no spirituality that soaks the two-thousands. This book, like the sole of a rawhide boot, presses down on hope. This book sparks sparks of frenzy and disagreement—but don’t sparks create fires? Fires that wander in the dark. Tired, wounded, deceived.