Black Jack Justice (38) - Auld Lang Syne

There are few thinsg that cry out for introspection quite like the passing of one year into the next. A time when the rustle of lost illusions crackles underfoot, like a handful of dead leaves in the wind. When past, present and future come together for a single moment to blow a raspberry at you in the shaving mirror. A time when even the handful of thing you might have been sure of shift underfoot, and send you sliding down the slipperly slope to nowhere in particular. And when that moment comes, eve...