You don’t really care about me. I know. You don’t really care about anyone. Where’s your heart tin man? If I were Dorothy, I’d pick the scarecrow and the lion, before you. If I reached into your chest and clenched my fist, I would fear that my hand would be exposed to your vapid ambitions. Now feel this. I pull my fist out of your chest and open up my hand and “Presto!”…nothing there. No magic. No love.