Okay, so here's a confession/anecdote/whatever that is related to "22, A Million" I think: I work too much and I do things you're not supposed to do and things you're supposed to do way too much, to the point where they're not fun or useful anymore, but hey, you got to do something with all this time on earth, right? My toxic extra-ness created a kind of perfect storm of dome-rattling meaninglessness the other night after a joint full of Headband—a trippy tangle of OG Kush and Sour Diesel, named as such because smokers allegedly say that when they smoke it they feel pressure and pushing on their head, as if they're wearing a headband (weed is so stupid)—got me lost taking a walk. I sat down, in a rando place in Remington, looked at my dog and he looked back, which made me feel guilty. I texted friends and got grounded. I focused on Headband's taste, a kind of creamy flavor, like a mid-tier beer, and I eventually felt hinged enough to get up and walk. A Bon Iver moment maybe: Sad bro transcends a minor blip of anxiety and keeps going, none of which makes the bigger issues less so, but hey.