Well, imagine you are alone in a room. The lights are down low, you've got some...

Well, imagine you are alone in a room. The lights are down low, you've got some scented candles going. Soothing New Age tunes, nothing too druid-chanty, seep out of the hi-fi to gently massage your cerebral cortex. Feel good? Are you the best, most special person in the room right now? Yes. That's the gift of being alone. Then a bozo in a CAT Diesel Power cap barges in. What's the chance that you are the best, most special person in the room now? Fifty-fifty. If you both were dealt two cards, those would be your odds of holding the winning hand. Now imagine ten people are in the room. It's cramped. You're elbow to elbow, aerosolized dandruff floats in the air, and the candle's lavender scent is complicated by BO tones, with a tuna sandwich finish. What are the chances you're the best, most special person in the room? If you were handed cards, you might expect to be crowned one time out of ten. People, as ever, are the problem. The more people there are, the tougher you have it. Just by sitting next to you, they fuck you up, as if life were nothing more than a bus ride to hell {which it is}. But what if you moved to another seat? Changed position? Your seat is everything. It can give you room to relax, to contemplate your next move. Or it might instigate your unraveling.

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