I roam from place to place. I’m like that guy. He’ll sleep anywhere, find food in the woods, in the desert. He just travels across the Great Plains, becomes dry and whittled down like a bone. (He sees a can of roach spray – reaches towards it like it’s from the gods). And then he finds it, the oasis. (He picks up the spray and sprays it in his mouth and gargles. Burps). I just roam. I’m on the run. In this country you can’t have one home. Tomorrow it may be dust, the next you may be swimming in your own kitchen. You may be in civilization but there’s still the alligators to contend with and the sense that nobody is safe, not even you. And I’m not talking about the others, I’m talking about your own kind. Because you may be the rebel they’re looking for. And I am always the one they’re looking for. One wrong turn and I’m squirming in poison, one false move and I’m the end of a tango dance. (He stomps his foot and does a tango move, flinging his arms in the air, he pulls Susie to him and clutches her tight). Care to dance?