Bridges, perhaps, are meant to be burnt. Every platoon, under its commander, will be a light brigade one day. I look at the contacts, the active conversations on the very device you're reading this in, and I think of the day I'll use them for one last, big favor. Until then perhaps I'll hold on to them. So until I die for real, I'll keep accumulating these 'lives', these power-ups.
All except a few.
