What Has Become of Us?

In a world of reckless fools, coming to terms with schadenfreude.

You are about to see the very worst of me. But first, a word about the smell of babies.

It is indescribably delicious. If you were to get poetic, you might say “the redolence of innocence.” If you were to be scientific, you’d contemplate the dopamine surge it triggers, which is perhaps nature’s way of encouraging nurture. In any case, it is a joy. One of the priceless benefits of life in this world.

There are so many. Sunsets, rainbows, Beethoven, sports, a ripe peach, the squeal of rough-housing toddlers, a cold beer on a hot day, orgasm, Shakespeare, TikTok, chocolate, My Cousin Vinny. That is why I am pro-life — in the sense of being grateful not to be dead. Because, for me, there is no peach-grove afterlife or reincarnation or resurrection. It’s just lights out. A carcass with a history and no future. No more anger, pride or Hershey Bars. The end.

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