do you think the particular scenario ever happens to bill where he's laying down swee

[cork_soaker]

t riffs for hours on end in the "rock room," of the mansion, then looks up suddenly to realize he's completely lost track of augustus juppiter corgan, and immediately thinks the worst — that after a half hour or so of playing alone in the expansive acreage and garden mazes of the estate, a.j. c. began to innocently wander down toward the rocky lakefront where, oh no, no no no, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck — bill sets down the axe hurriedly but gently enough as to not gouge the parquet, then, winded and dizzy from the back spiral staircase, he runs out into the yard shouting his son's name, increasingly desperately, lumbering toward the forest at an impressively lively clip, where, on the other side, no doubt, his son is inches away from the choppy and frigid waters of one of the great lakes, probably the biggest and deepest one, reaching toward something glittering enchantingly in the waves?