You will do your best. You will do your worst. You’ll do a shit-ton of average.
But when you die, you will be gone. Whether or not you adhere to some version of the afterlife, to me, to everyone else, you will be gone.
He got on the plane smelling like booze and blood. People don’t even bother being furtive with their judgement anymore, even when you’re at the airport, which people also forget is an immense luxury. Flying. He had his knuckles taped because there hadn’t been time to fix it any better. They stared, he…