Not a hill of beans: our love, our fights, our flirting with the depths of life… not a hill of beans under this angry sky building up cloudy warheads raining fury down on all the tiny romances that scurry scared under the shoes and scourge of geopolitics. Play it again, Sam, in case you haven’t heard the dissonance between the one or two and the many. Play it again, but this time add a solo in the minor scale of sacrifice as I cry at the bar into my glass over the woman, the world and the wound I love