It is always a tragedy when you lose your head. You look for it in the sock drawer with borrowed eyed. Finding nothing you think to cry, but that voids the terms of service for the eyes you borrowed. You lawyer up, but your top notch law expert turns out to be the personification of a potato chip only pretending to have passed the bar. You lose in the court of public opinion and people throw basket balls at your head. You follow the trail of tossed spheres to where it bends in the undergrowth. There chatting with the daisies and the moths, you find you head. Will you come back with me? you ask. Nope! It replies, because it knows how a good tragedy is supposed to end.