And then you start thinking.

I'm sitting there, holding my newborn son on the thigh. Filled with happiness. Two little kids in my living room ask if they can hold him and as the good man I am, I say yes and make sure that everything goes as it should. Responsible father. I turn my head for a moment to find a hat for my little. The sun is in fact at its highest. I turn my head back again. My youth has become a shrimp, laying at a plate, chopped into small pieces. The two kids, started to throw my chopped son in their mouths.

What happens to performance anxiety? And what the hell is going on to dream about paternal characteristic in the age of 20? I need a shower.