The cynical, and yet darkly humorous way in which he portrays the feeling of lost youth is what shines through and impresses the most. That’s probably just because, for me it’s the most relatable aspect of the book, and of the poems, and makes you think, “Well, fuck, yeah, I’m not young anymore, none of us are, but fuck it all the same…” And he manages to laugh, albeit quietly, in the face of it all and make you realise that the same shit’s going down wherever you are in the world, whoever you are, and in whatever era you happen to be walking the streets.

Throughout his poems Dan shows you that yeah, life is ugly, yeah, life is a murky existence in which you spend most of your time questioning yourself amongst other things, and the rest of the time you’re banging your head off the same grey wall. But, put a mask on it, and paint a smile on the mask, and you’ve got something. Something that shines through the rest of it and glistens in the mud. I’m not saying it’s hope, or even some sort of twisted optimism, but it’s good, and it’s raw, and it’s real. He depicts the plight of the observer in the battleground that is everyday life. And he does it well. Some are in it, some take a seat and watch the show, and some manage to do both.