Put on a show in Palm Beach. Attended in person at the swank old historic hotel. Smuggled in my wife, so she could rollerskate around a while without people asking her to make them lunch or find their shoes.
This is a post about dying. If that isn't your cup of tea, skip this one.
Dying is an increasing problem in today's modern, fast-paced fuck-a-doodle world. According to reliable statistics almost 100% of people across all demographic lines are likely to be affected by dying at some point in their lives, many of them fatally. Wrenchingly, these numbers include children as young as 0.
Part of the problem is a dearth of information from those who have escaped death, or were reportedly able to transmogrify the process to their own ends. As a cohort the post-dead are uncommunicative, with only a tiny percentage making messages available to living people.
Disappointingly these messages are often limited in their scope, offering insights into the future fortunes of friends and family members, or perseverating on personal deeds left undone. Comments about post-death experience tend to be vague, and often lack metaphysical rigour.
Please note: for safety reasons this diary should be read without serifs.
All of the particulars have been smeared, because that way I'm free to explore events without worrying too much about pissing people off. Details are randomized, nouns are juggled, geography is fractal, history is alternative.
A homeless man demanded my hot dog and yelled at me when I didn't make with the compliance. None of it disturbed me much which is how I can tell I'm used to being in the city again. I just designed a new trajectory that included wide berth for the shouting guy and sallied on. Social justice hardly even crossed my mind. Habituation is only slow when you're waiting for it.
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