I am shouted about rooftops. It’s created on bras, on the inside of bathroom stalls, hell, my name is everywhere. To state my name is to experience an orgasm without ever departing your damn home. My name is Zane Saint Andrews. I’m sex. I’m a rock god. I’m also…a virgin. What they don’t really know won’t destroy them right? Give the people what they need. And what they want is the idea of me; the enjoyment they gain at listening to my music and knowing without a doubt I’m discussing them and only them. It worked well for a while. Until a nerdy lady with eyeglasses falls within my feet, literally, and abruptly I don’t want to be Saint anymore. What I want? What I must say i need? Is to be kept. By her.