Fireman: Spit it out, what’s your story?
Frostbite Victim: I’m a ghost of who I used to be.
Fireman: Is this a sob story?
Frostbite Victim: I’ve seen the depths of darkness; I’ve wandered the wastelands of despair…
Fireman: Stop right there! Now step back from the edge. The Dark Night of the Soul is not a place to be this time of year.
Frostbite Victim: For a shot of whiskey, I will rise, reborn, stand tall, like a shamrock, on St. Paddy’s day.
Fireman: That’s the spirit. Let’s revel in the messed up poetry of life, dance to the symphony of life and death, walk the line between fire and ice.
