When you're a young man and your mom dotes on you it's fucking miserable, because young men like to think that they can succeed without the aid of anyone or anything. But when you're older, and the closest you get to tender advice is some guy with a cane in the subway station going "Walk faster, you retarded motherfucker"—as was the case for me this morning—hanging out with your mother is one of the greatest things in the world. And when she goes, "You're going the wrong way, babe," and spins you around, you don't pull your arm away anymore like her hand is burning hot.

Who's your sonny?

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