Here

No-one jogs around here. Running is something you do on a football field, or when the cops ae chasing you, but never just for running's sake. Nobody goes to the gym. There are no gyms.

All energy is expended on the two things that matter in life: Work and play.

Play incorporates football, fighting, sex, and sex includes both full-on sex and non-penetrative joysting, which is all she'll let you do before you put a ring on her finger. Wedding ring for all-in, engagement for love up the bumbum. 

Work includes the building trade, factories, warehouses and the smithy. Work is hard, a punishment, a curse, and a reason to live, the only reason to live. Some go to sea, where ropes rip your skin and ripen your muscles, others choose the army, a chance to see the world and die. 

Life is hard. Life is short. But life is real, life is grasped, life is savored by the pint glass, slurped and burped down to the last drip.

For Here is not a rehearsal. You're born, you work, you fuck, you die. Little else matters.

Here is somewhere you wish still existed.