"We sail tonight for Singapore, take your blankets from the floor
Wash your mouth out by the door, the whole town's made of iron ore
Every witness turns to steam, they all become Italian dreams
Fill your pockets up with earth, get yourself a dollar's worth
Away boys, away boys, heave away"

-Tom Waits, Singapore

The tonsils at the back of my mouth are all red and swollen, pitted and covered in pus-filled abscesses.
I visited a doctor, but the capitalist pig only saw me for a paltry three minutes after I waited an hour or two in the clinic's waiting room, taking a quick swab and then prescribing antibiotics like a jerk.
All is well, however.
The spring is here and the weather's tasty.