We announce with transparent diction that the elevator is broken. When in Rome…set the alarm for Nero’s fire. But the peasants walk the stairs. The peasants walked the stairs and watched from above a helpless crowd of elevator residents, hugging kneecaps bent like fetuses. We tend to those in need, but needy interacts with greedy, when devices break, especially those providing a convenience it’s a simple response that solves the issue. Repeat. Fuck it. A raccoon scampers onto the highway exit and causes a 30-car pileup, bodies are burning like Nero’s Rome. Perched atop a streetlamp is a song bird, a man wails until his lips melt off his face, the song bird whistles, “fuck it.” A bug in the coffee cup. Fuck it. A thousand-dollar whore humps like an aged tree. Fuck it. We encounter the fuck-it, daily, but it’s the responsibility of the scrapper to wipe the char from their seared flesh and use it as chalk to trademark the moment of failure.