thirty-two.
Unlike many of you, I actually have nothing to complain about. There's nothing like a period of time where people fucking dressed well and children know there godforsaken place. The cars are better-looking and, if I recall properly, the 1950s saw a growth in economy. Everything feels fresh, alive and good. Workable.
Those of you in the asylum will have to deal. And maybe I'll try to find a way to keep some of you in there. The rest of us can enjoy this slice of peace and prosperity.