It is made to work and work and work until it does not. Until it cannot. It does not sit left in the chest. It resides somewhere center. If your chest were the wide open plains of the West it would be the buffalo and every wandering cowboy, every displaced Indian would feel compelled to take a shot. the heart will not flinch, it will not fail until it finally does. It will just give out. You will know it because you will be there (and then you will not). There is no finer piner, no more perfect pump.*This is the Heart.