All that we own is our bodies. And we sell our bodies every day we live. We sell them when we go out in the morning to our jobs and when we labor all the day. We are forced to sell at any price, at any time, for any purpose. We are forced to sell our bodies so that we can eat and live. And the price which is given us for this is only enough so that we will have the strength to labor longer for the profits of others. – Dr. Benedict Mady Copeland, of The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers
His public service was staying private.
The old man decided the best decision was to start his own conspiracy theory. Nothing else made as much sense.
He was becoming bored with himself. Never happened before. He found that interesting.
Getting old was going to happen to him whether he paid attention or not. Meanwhile, he could be doing something else. Something extra.
He farted. The kind of fart makes your dog sneeze and leave the room.
He had heard these were the last days of The White Man. He was a white man. Actually, a mocha latte, hairy grey with many blotches.
The end of white men. Kinda sounded good. He was the last of his breed. Ha! Yeah, that’s the ticket. A survivor. Sure.
Something Joe Maddon said about my newly beloved Cubs. “You want to slow it down as much as you can and appreciate the moment. You’ve got to appreciate the moment and what you’re actually going through right now. The sin would be not to do that and have it go so quickly that you don’t actually enjoy it. That would be inappropriate.”
Inappropriate. What really is inappropriate these days? That was his conspiracy theory. This wasn’t about greed nor power, it’s about the definition of truth.
Beware the dog that does not bark. Beware the man that does not talk.