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I'm sort of telling myself, almost as if Marsha would tell me, like, yo, you're living like an effing glut. There's hungry people in Africa, and you're sitting here stuffing your face. She used to tell me shit like that, and you know why she would tell me stuff like that? Because I used to do things like, like, polish off a big ginormous pizza, or polish off like, I don't know if I could do a 20 piece at Popeyes. I probably get seven or eight, and she would say, do you even know what you're doing? There's mother effers starving to death, eating out of the garbage, eating dirt from the ground. Even know what you're doing, and I honestly used to kind of isolate my mind from her bitching, but now I understand. I wish I could tell her I understood. Maybe the ghost of her.