Everybody gets dressed up for death. Big party. It’s like you’re going to an inauguration. Shine your buttons and into the coach with you. When you get there its lights out. Three months of misery later and you’re a new man. You could be a new woman too. You can be whatever you want, but you’ll be what you’re told, and that’ll play merry hell with your self-esteem. That’s life. Tough shit.