I’ve been in bed with food poisoning. I’m not surprised, because everything I eat is prepared by unwashed hands in a Vietnamese marketplace that plays host to a population of sewer rats. Every meal, you spin the barrel on the revolver again.
When I emerged from solitary confinement we had a new president. I say that I’m worried, because it’s just something you have to say in social situations. The truth is that I’m too white, too male, too straight and too Christian-adjacent to be worried.
But let’s not kid ourselves. It’s not like a savior got shafted. Hillary probably wasn’t going to help you. She was Sameness. She was the perpetuation of this broken machine that crushes everyone and sucks us dry. You were still going to have to go to work on Monday.
Anyway, this is America’s problem. In theory, I care, but it’s hard to. I live in a foreigner’s settlement on a faroff planet, where the headlines don’t really touch us. We’re alien bandits who drive motorcycles, drink all the beer and take all the money. The locals don’t like us much, but they need what’s in our heads.
We know it won’t last. Eventually, the proper dark forces will coalesce over this nation, someone loud will take charge, and we’ll have to pack up and worry about reality again. Until that day, I stay prodigal.