Tag Archives: President Trump

Here’s the Story

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I read, with mixed regret and a great deal of interest, that a certain residence: 11222 Dilling Street in Studio City, CA, is up for sale. More pertinently, this 2,500 square foot, 2 bedroom/3 bath dwelling, has been since time immemorial, the home of the Bradys.

My first reaction (a logical one I feel) was to scream “Fake News!” After all, everyone knows that whatever else its appeal (sliding doors, eat in kitchen, etc.), 11222 Dill contains NO bathrooms. I think there was a closet with a mirror and a sink, where those whacky kids used to fight from time to time for sufficient space to brush their unilaterally, impossibly white teeth. But a bathroom? No.

However, I’ve checked and it’s true, Casa Brady is indeed on the market, and for the bargain price of $1.85 mil. And part of me feels that we’re all worse off for the prospective transaction. I developed an early fascination with the Bradys, perhaps in part because the Bunch are my chronological peers. I’m a little younger than Jan; a little older than and Bobby.

So when the series was in Prime Time, I never missed an episode, realizing even at a young age, that it offered a perfect caricature of life in 1970s America at its campiest and blandest. That it did so in contemporaneous time, and without any intended irony, is a marvel for the ages. It ran for about 6 seasons, but was eventually cancelled because the kids got too old. And neither Mike and Bobby’s dubious perms, nor the arrival of the ill-matched, misanthropic Cousin Oliver, could salvage it. But as the saying goes, Old Bradys die hard. A couple of years later, the cast convened through a variety series, which, somehow, and against all odds, managed to outdo even the Brady Bunch in Brady-ness. The same could be said of a spinoff called The Brady Brides, in which newly betrothed Marcia and Jan seek to economize by moving in together with husbands that hated each other. Trust me on this one: hilarity did indeed ensue.

Lingering, still, is the Marcia/Jan debate, and, to me, despite having a soft spot for Jan (easily the most unhinged of the Brady scions), in terms of romantic appeal, it’s no contest. It’s Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. Even with her banged up nose. But I do have one further matter to get off my chest: once, in a fit of sheer boredom, I took a BuzzFeed quiz to determine whether I was more Marcia or Jan, and I came up unambiguously as Jan. I posted the results Facebook.

But as Mick once sang (on a record that was released, as it happens, about the time that the Bradys kids hit their aggregate hormonal peak) “Time waits for no one”. Not even a Brady. Mike and Carol are both dead. Alice is dead, as is Sam the Butcher. Mangy mutt Tiger disappeared with no explanation after Season 1, and, nearly 5 decades later, we can perhaps safely conclude that he too has gathered to the dust of his forebears. Greg rocks a weave/dye job, and croons the borscht belt circuit. Marcia is born again, and no longer speaks to Jan. Peter turns up on the telly here and there. Cindy, I believe, is a radio DJ with pretty solid rock sensibilities. Bobby, improbably, sells decorative concrete on his home turf near Salt Lake City.

So maybe it was indeed time to sacrifice 11222 Dill, but I felt it my responsibility to not allow this milestone to pass unremarked.

So that’s the story. At least that story. But meanwhile, what’s ours?

Well, I’ve nothing to relate that rises to the dignity of the Johnny Bravo episode (or the one where Marcia resorts to cross-dressing, in her hot pursuit of the adorable Davy Jones), but it’s not like we don’t have some ground to cover, so let’s get to it, shall we?

In simpler times (say, suburban L.A. – circa 1972), market participants might’ve casted their collective focus on the many salient data points coming our way,: the acceleration of the earnings calendar, Fed Chair Powell’s testimony on Capitol Hill, and other information flows directly tied to the fortunes of the global capital economy. However, these are anything but simple times, because among other things, our fearless leader accomplished the nigh-impossible, drawing incremental attention to himself – at a point when his face had already become more ubiquitous than that of Orwell’s Big Brother.

More specifically, he’s fighting with everyone, and in doing so, is channeling his inner Jan: always at risk of descending into phantasmagoric delusion (the wig episode, the made up boyfriend, etc.) One time, she even decided, and was accommodated in this wish, to disown the entire Brady crew. And Trump is acting out in similar fashion. He’s brawling, of course, with China, with Europe, and even with Canada for God’s Sake. In his own way (though the superficial narrative runs in the other direction), he’s circling in menacing fashion around Russia. Moreover,, in addition to his longstanding beefs with the FBI, CIA and Justice Department, he’s now picking bones with the supposed-to-be-independent Federal Reserve Bank of the United States.

These are serious matters, but the markets, like the Bradys did to Jan in the aforementioned episode, have chosen to to pretend he’s not there. Thus, just as Jan’s brothers and sisters simply hopped around her when she tried to disrupt a backyard sack race, investors ignored such matters as threats to up the Chinese tariff ante to a cool $500B, and shade throwing at our Central Bank, and went about their business.

They didn’t have much to show for their efforts, but they did manage to gather themselves sufficiently to push the Gallant 500 up about 9 handles for the week (0.27%), and a similar tale can be told about our other favorite indices. Treasuries sold off a bit, pushing yields from ~2.82 to ~2.89, but continue to trade in the narrowest ranges witnessed for more than a decade. The Bloomberg Commodity Index was able to register a pulse, with my victimized grains catching a small bid, but other components – particularly the whole metals complex – continuing their descent into the netherworld. Thus, if nowhere else, we see the trade war risk premium rising in the mundane world of commodities.

Earnings, thus far, have been a mixed bag, with winners such as Bank of America, Morgan Stanley and Microsoft being offset by disappointers including eBay, NetFlix (improbably) and (of course) General Electric. Howver, with 17% of the SPX clocking in, the market is still on pace to reach its socialized target of >20% earnings growth, and if the trend continues, no one should complain.

Casting our eyes towards the VIX, we note benign volatility conditions, but again, that’s not the whole story on vol. As we’ve discussed, the VIX is a rolling measure of at-the-money SPX implied volatility, and it is indeed low by any relative/historical standard. But if one looks out at the tails of the volatility plain – i.e. the realms where investors actually purchase portfolio protection, we see that they are evidencing a willingness to pay up – substantially:

Now, just like the rest of you, having always been a bit leery of the VIX, my inclination is to evaluate an index of skew thereto with a particularly jaundiced eye. But the way this thing is calculated, a value of 100 implies that investors expect a normal distribution of SPX returns, and now we’re at 160 (record levels by a wide margin), which suggests an increase in the options-projected probability of a multi standard deviation crash to statistically meaningful levels.

On the other hand, I mentioned this to a couple of clients and they usefully pointed out to me that all of the implied overpayment for portfolio protection is as strong an indicator that this here bull market has yet to run its course as any we’re likely to find in these troubled times.

I reckon we’ll see. Next week, after all, brings another big series of earnings, including the Googlers and Facebook. Beyond this, on Friday morning, we’ll get our first glimpse at Q2 GDP, and, for what it’s worth, those crazy cats at the Atlanta Fed are up to their old tricks again, turbo-charging their projections back up to a big, fat 4.5%.

Part of me wishes that they’d just make up their minds, but then again, this would be a futile gesture. The Commerce Department will make minds up for them on Friday, and that is the number that will go into the history books.

Until, of course, it is revised. And then revised again. But pretty much everyone who’s cared to look into these matters expects an exceedingly rich quarter, and here it bears remembering, because > 4% prints on GDP don’t last forever.

On the other hand, nothing does. Last forever that is. And if you doubt this, just ask the Bradys. Given that for many of us (myself included of course) they will forever remain the perpetually perky, wellscrubbed teens and pre-teens that they always have been, it must be very upsetting for them to have their childhood home sold right out from underneath their feet. Here’s hoping that the buyer(s) whoever they may be, understand that they are not purchasing a house, but rather, a shrine.

And yes, I’ve considered bidding myself. But it’s a stretch. I can probably scrape together the 1.85 large asking price, but with little margin for error. More importantly, this would leave me with almost no financial resources to undertake certain structural adjustments that I feel are just nigh essential.

I probably don’t need to elaborate here other than to state that, at my advanced age, an upgrade in the plumbing arrangements at 11222 Dilling Street, Studio City, CA is among the most effective risk management actions of which I possibly can conceive.

If I were to take this step, it would be important for me to remind myself that my life in Studio City would not fit into tidy 22 minute segments, resolving themselves in crescendos of happy endings and lessons learnt. This is particularly true 45 years after the demise of the Brady Bunch, and even moreso in today’s markets. It’s tricky out there; not much edge to be found anywhere. Be forewarned.

TIMSHEL

Rules 1a and 1b

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He’s a worldwide traveler, he’s not like me or you,

But he comes in mighty regular, for one who’s passing through,

That one came in his work clothes, he’s missed his last bus home,

He’s missed a heluvalotta buses, for a man who wants to roam,

And you’ll never get to Rome, Son, and Son this is Rule 2

— P.D. Heaton

I gotta say, I love Rule 2, so much so that I even included it in my book (remember my first book?). But before we get to it, we must first, as a matter of protocol, pass, wherever it may take us, through the portal of Rule 1. Moreover, while Rule 2 is fixed for all time, Rule 1 has historically been a bit more elusive.

Moreover, recent events point to its partitioning. Hence, I give you Rule 1a: TIMING IS EVERYTHING; and RULE 1b: IT’S ALWAYS IMPORTANT TO KNOW THE SCORE.

In comforting consistency with the age-old platitude, Rules 1a and 1b, are defined by their exceptions, of which this week there were several, of varying form and consequence. Having no better alternative, I have chosen to highlight a few pertinent examples – in chronological order.

Wednesday morning, Northbrook, IL-based Pharma concern AbbVie completed the buyback of its shares – taking the form of a Dutch Tender Auction (a nuanced transaction type that I won’t bother to explain — mostly because I don’t myself understand it). The Company’s intent to do so was known in advance by investors, as was the associated amount ($7.5B). The only unknown was the price it would pay, proclaimed in the pre-open to be $105/share. Later that afternoon, however, Management awarded itself a mulligan, informing the markets that the real price was $103. The pricing action attendant to this regrettable error is as follows:

Let’s all agree that the guys and gals in the AbbVie C Suite have had better weeks.

Further, it would seem that the Company violated Rules 1a and 1b, by failing to know the score, and by mistiming by several hours the announcement of the correction.

I am sure, however, that they have learned their lesson and will, at the point of their next Dutch Tender, reveal the appropriate price at the appropriate time.

Moving on across the week, we turn to the misanthropic Earl Joseph (J.R.) Smith III – Shooting Guard for the Cleveland Cavaliers. Smith and the LeBron-led Cavs entered the 2018 NBA finals as deep dogs to the annoyingly flawless Golden State Warriors as any I can remember. But with a gritty performance in Thursday night’s opener, the team was poised to snatch Game 1, when teammate George Hill stepped to the line for the second of two free throws, which, had it gone in, would’ve given the Cavs a 1-point lead with about 4.5 seconds to go. But Hill clanked it and Smith grabbed the offensive rebound. However, instead of shooting the rock, or passing it to arguably the greatest player in NBA history (sorry MJ) for a buzzer beater, he dribbled out the clock, sending the game into overtime, where the Warriors trounced.

Some debate has ensued as to whether, at the end of regulation, J.R. knew the score, but, indisputably, his timing was off, and now his gaffe passes into history as one of the most bone-headed plays of all time.

All of which brought us to Friday morning and a much-anticipated April Jobs Report. At 7:21 EDT, President Trump issued a casual tweet that he was looking forward to the 8:30 a.m. release. Not knowing for sure what this meant, but being aware of our Chieftain’s tendency towards bravado, a segment of savvy, early rising market participants suspected that the number was going to be a good one, and promptly bought stock futures and sold bonds.

Well, waddya know? The number was indeed strong. Nonfarm Payrolls, the Base Unemployment Rate and even Hourly Earnings were all encouraging. And yes, stocks rallied and bonds sold off. Undoubtedly, here, the Trumpster knew the score, but I’ll go so far as to state my opinion that his tweet timing was indeed off.

The episode set off the usual, wearying cycle of gleeful outrage by the Administration’s enemies, combined with spin control on the part of its friends. But at the end of the day, I ask my readers to keep some perspective here. A review of the SPX and 10-Year Note trading activity during the critical time period between 7:21 and 8:30 does not support overwrought claims of market manipulation:

Nope. Not much happened during the period between when Trump scooped the jobs market, and the actual number became part of the public domain. Still and all, I wish he’d refrain from pulling these types of stunts, because they begin to give me a headache. So I offer the following risk management advice to our Commander in Chief: in those many cases when you know the score, please be careful of your timing. You had all day to brag about the jobs numbers, and a little forbearance (never your strong suit, I know) on your part might save some aggravation or worse.

But now it’s time to move to exceptions to Rule 2. Contrary to our thematic quote, I did, at least rhetorically, manage to make it to Rome last week. For lack of anything else interesting upon which to opine, I actually wrote extensively about pricing problems associated with the government debt issuing forth from that glittering capital. My timing here (it must be allowed) was impeccible, but I will in no way claim to have known the score. It came as a fairly significant surprise to me that the political throw-down in that ancient seat of wisdom would roil the global bond markets, with collateral damage spilling over to other asset classes.

But it did. Roil the bond global markets that is. Yields on the Benchmark BTP Note, having traded all year in about a 20 basis point range around 2.00% careened up to a high of 3.15% before settling on Friday at a still elevated but entirely more civilized 2.67%. The unfailingly neutral Swiss Bond stayed negative. Presumably, in a frenzied flight to, er, quality, market players bid U.S. yields – which recently hit a multi-year high of 3.11%, down to 2.78%.

I do suspect, however, that there were other, slightly technical factors that impacted these tidings. As has been reported multiple times in these pages, net short speculative open interest in 10-year futures has been hitting, and for the most part retaining, record highs in recent weeks:

So, when the big Treasury rally hit us on Tuesday, it had to me the look and feel of a short squeeze. Since Tuesday’s blowout, and in light of Friday’s Jobs Report, the U.S. 10 Year Note has since sold off to a yield of 2.90%.

I suspect that the shorts will have another go at it this month, and that we will not only test 3.00% yet again, but probably break through and hold at these levels.

In addition, after allowing on Wednesday approximately $28B of our paper to expire without repurchase this past week, the Fed Balance Sheet now stands at a paltry $4.3275 Trillion – its lowest level in 4 years. If our Central Bankers have their way, this number will decrease at an accelerating rate over the coming months and quarters.

So, with the big dog domestic buyer in belt-tightening mode, uncertainty about foreign demand among traditional owners of our paper (with whom we may now be commencing a trade war), the logical path of rates probably remains upward. Plus, the economy –even beyond the jobs report – is showing signs of feeling its oats, as evidenced in part by the impeccably accurate Atlanta Fed GDPNow Forecast:

Yes, you read that right. The boys and girls down in Georgia have Q2 GDP clocking in at 4.8%. I personally believe this is something of a pipe dream, but if that’s the number (and we won’t know until late July), then you can be pretty certain that the 10-year note will be throwing off a pretty significant amount of incremental vig.

Again, I think this number will come down considerably before it’s official, but it does seem likely that the bond bears may yet have their day.

But timing will be everything, and here’s hoping that Trump can keep his twitter finger in check. Otherwise, we may just have to move on to Rule 3.

And trust me, brother and sisters, you don’t even want to know what Rule 3 is.

TIMSHEL

Joining the Band

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Join The Band

Hey Lordy… (join the band, be good rascal…)

Hey join the band, be good rascal and join the band

Hey Lordy…

Join the band, be a good rascal and join the band

Oh huh oh ho ho ho

— Little Feat

Don’t you think the moment has come? To join the band, I mean? There are worse ways to spend your time, you know, and when Little Feat’s late and lightly lamented Lowell George asks, I believe we owe it to him to respond favorably – even four decades after the initial request.

So, even at this late date, I am inclined to take up Lowell’s invitation. However, one problem remains: which band should I join? It’s not as though I am flooded with offers; the plain truth is that I have had none. And believe me, this hurts, because these days I can really shred. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that I’d be a major asset to any ensemble fixated on the rolling decade between 1965 and 1974, and, in the right group (i.e. one that: a) narrowed its focus to 1968 through 1972; and b) let me do exactly what I wanted), I could be great.

But at my advanced age, I have learned that delusion is risky and even sometimes fatal, and this forces me to face the possibility that no rock and roll outfit will have me. However, there’s more than one kind of band to join, so I’ve chosen to take a different course, affiliating more assertively with that band of brothers and sisters that form the global financial blogosphere. It’s not as though I haven’t contributed to their catalogue; the consistent production of these weeklies, and subsequent posting to the web is, in itself a testament to my longstanding affiliation with the blog bros. But, my friends, like so many other matters, it comes down to a matter of degree. I’m going to be doing more with them, and whether I become a full-fledged member of the group, or, like Darryl Jones, who has ably managed the base lines for the Rolling Stones for a period longer than founder Bill Wyman but has never achieved full membership, linger as a side man, remains out of my hands.

Please know that I don’t take this step without due consideration. I am solemnly aware that, over the baker’s dozen years that I’ve been pumping out these weeklies, missing nary a one, through sickness and health, triumph and tragedy, that you (the reader) and me (the scribe) have developed a sacred, unshakeable bond. It would nauseate me beyond measure to think that any step I could possibly take would weaken, let alone sever, these ties. Please know that you will continue to receive these missives, under the same timelines, and based upon the identical format – one that as you know, features my often futile efforts to gather what remains of my wandering wits.

That being stated, the chattering voices inside my head have convinced me that a wider audience beckons, and that I must answer the call. So if you observe me blogging, tweeting (under the rather generic handle of @KenGrantGRA) you will have two choices. You can consider this an unacceptable betrayal on my part (I will love you no less if you do), or you can give me a pass.

Oh yeah, there is one other alternative available to you: you can join the band, the @KenGrantGRA Band, accompanying me on my virtual journey through soaring arena anthems, destroyed hotel rooms, mud sharks and other such delights.

There’s room for you (and any friends you might wish to invite) on the @KenGrantGRA Tour Bus, and Cowboy Neil (at the wheel) will pull over and let you off at any point of your own choosing. Do me a favor and think about it, OK?

*******************

Whether you believe me or not, the plain truth is that I hate to write about politics. I find it an unproductive, loser’s game. I tell myself that I have held more or less to the discipline of only doing so through the filter of political impacts on risk conditions. But you’ll have to make your own judgments as to how well I’ve actually adhered to this protocol, and how rigidly I’ll stick to the discipline going forward.

One way or another, I believe that politics hover over current market conditions in a highly menacing fashion, so this week, and perhaps for a spell going forward, I must at least move towards the borderlands of my pledge. By my judgement, Trump had by far his worst political week since he put his hand on that bible, amid so much protest, almost exactly five quarters ago. Let’s dispatch with the easily analyzed events first. Paul Ryan announced he’s stepping down at the end of his term, and, any way you look at it, this is not a positive development for the Administration. I’ve always liked my Janesville boy, and think he was one of the very few competent members of Congress. He did his homework, did his work, and, through a number of hits and misses, actually got things done. And I ask this to anyone in favor of any part of Trump’s legislative agenda: where we’d be now without his steady hand? But he’s riding off, taking the certified Republican House Majority down to a slim 22. Also, and, ominously (at least in a symbolic fashion), his departure means that nearly half (10 out of 21) Congressional Committee Chairs have now stepped down, and, given that it’s only April, that number could rise.

More chilling was the raid on Trump lawyer Michael Cohen’s office and home by those fluffy fellows from the Office of the United States Attorney Southern District of New York. Acting on a referral from Special Counsel Robert Mueller, they forced their way into Attorney Cohen’s private professional and personal lairs, and seized pretty much anything that wasn’t nailed down. Subsequent reports indicate that he’d been under investigation by the Southern District for criminal activity for several months, but the timing and the methods turn my blood to ice. Federal prosecutors have many methods to procure information from investigation targets, most notably their subpoena powers, and raids are the most aggressive of these tools. Typically, this type of thing is only justified when the target is either a flight risk (which Cohen clearly was not), or information suggests he was committing serious crimes on an on-going basis. So I hope for all our sakes, that whatever impelled the G-Men to give Cohen the Manafort Treatment be disclosed in short order. And it better be good.

Because, and I state this more in sorrow than in anger, attorney client privilege is so embedded in basic human rights as to not even require inclusion in the Constitution. It dates back to the Elizabethan Era, and is a core part of British Common law upon which our Constitution is based. We are now headed down a very slippery slope on the treacherous terrain of civil liberties, and however much you may be enraged by Trump, I urge you to bear in mind that someday, you yourself might need a good lawyer, who, if we’re not careful, may have his professional materials seized. At which point they won’t be of any use to you. If this ever happens (and I pray that it doesn’t), it’ll probably be lights out for your case. Of course, this won’t apply to everyone. If you happen to be very rich, powerful and aligned with the appropriate forces, not only will your private realms not be raided, but you will have the prerogative to respond to subpoenas by simply decided what, of the information demanded, you choose to share.

The deal struck between the Southern District and the Special Counsel is such that anything the former uncovers that might be useful to the latter will be referred back to them. And here’s where I can at least plausibly make my case of tying the political to the financial. Anyone who had a shadow of a doubt that Mueller is going for the jugular should disabuse themselves of this fantasy at the earliest convenient opportunity. There’s an end game afoot here, set to play out over the immediate months ahead, and I believe it behooves the risk sensitive to bear this in mind as they seek to navigate through these choppy market waters. Because I don’t think the markets will much like the action, however it turns out.

But equities, notwithstanding these and other worrisome events, gathered themselves in gratifying fashion this past week, with the SPX bouncing jauntily off of its 200-Day Moving Average yet again, and now resting in the friendlier confines of its 50 and 100 day equivalents. One might be tempted to ascribe the bounce to giddiness about earnings, and I’ve seen estimates of growth rise to the dignity of ~20%. But I’d be careful here. A large contingent of big banks reported on Friday (JPM, Citi, Wells, PNC) and despite ALL of them beating both profit and revenue estimates by a comfortable margin, EACH sold off in the wake of their announcements by >2%. This suggests that the bar is very high for a paradigm involving strong earnings being followed by shares being bid up.

Volatility has indeed risen in the equity markets, but perhaps a little perspective here is in order. The combination of renewed price action after the vol paralysis of last year, and a rally that has increased the denominators associated with percentage moves, may be creating the illusion that the Equity Complex is in hyper-volatility mode. However, statistics offer a different story. While February and April brought some truly noteworthy action, across the course of 2018, we’re still only looking at a standard deviation of SPX returns in the mid to high teens, which is about the norm in the modern market era. So the equity market has become more volatile, but not alarmingly so, and while it is likely to continue to rise, in percentage terms, it’s important to remember that we’re pretty much at historical norms. And in terms of options volatility, last week’s selloff in the VIX took this benchmark to under 17.5 – right about its median for the lifetime of this eccentric index.

However, in a continuation of a highly vexing pattern, non-equity asset classes remain stuck in the volatility mud. The following chart, coming to you through the courtesy of those dedicated public servants at Goldman Sachs, Inc., illustrates what it looks like when one asset class awakes from a winters-long hibernation, while others remain in blissful slumber:

I’m not entirely sure what this correlation drop implies, but it doesn’t strike me as the kind of breakdown that the ghost of Tom Petty could reasonably describe as being “alright”.

Meanwhile, as cross-asset class correlations have migrated to decade plus lows, the story is quite different within the equity complex. Here, correlations, have spiked dramatically, again as illustrated by those talented graphic artists in residence at Goldman:

Among other things, one might wish to review other periods when stock correlations took an abrupt leap forward, and the intrepid among you might choose to superimpose equity index graphs on the image. I myself am either to frightened or have too much sensitivity for my readers to connect the dots here.

It may be the case that the jump in stock correlations is more easily explained than the drop in the cross-asset class correlation metric.

To wit: there’s a great deal to worry us in current affairs that has little to do with the relative fortunes of individual companies. For one thing, us Yanks got together with the French and Brits to lob some bombs into Syria this weekend. I don’t know what impact this will have on the markets, and won’t know till at least Sunday night, so I won’t opine upon this development.

More visible is the trade war of words currently under way. No one knows how this will resolve itself, but let’s just agree that it’s a risky proposition. Certainly, the Energy Markets have taken notice, bidding up Brent Crude to a 3-year high, and even the long-suffering, ag-heavy Continuous Commodity index has shown indications of higher pricing:

Strong Trade Winds: Crude And Commodities

Thus, as anticipated, we are in what I believe to be the early innings of a high impact information cycle. My best advice is to temper your investment enthusiasm and add a healthy measure of reactivity. There are opportunities developing, but they will require all of your talents and energies to capture them. You may also wish to place an extra focus on risk management.

So maybe it’s as good a time as any for me to step up my whole blogging game. Lowell George asked for our participation, but he’s been dead for nearly 40 years, and we need to make use of the tools that are at our current disposal. Please, in any event, don’t judge me too harshly for my expanded electronic footprint. And, if the spirit moves you, be a good rascal and join my band.

TIMSHEL