To Each Our Own Hamlet.

Death, I Had Discovered Long Ago, Was Available In Varying Flavors, And None Of Them Particularly Palatable.

Everything Comes To An End. A Good Bottle Of Wine, A Summer’s Day, A Long-running Sitcom, One’s Life, And Eventually Our Species. The Question For Many Of Us Is Not That Everything Will Come To An End But When. And Can We Do Anything Vaguely Useful Until It Does?

Yes, And Imagine A World Where There Were No Hypothetical Situations.

The Cucumber And The Tomato Are Both Fruit; The Avocado Is A Nut. To Assist With The Dietary Requirements Of Vegetarians, On The First Tuesday Of The Month A Chicken Is Officially A Vegetable.

If The Real World Were A Book, It Would Never Find A Publisher. Overlong, Detailed To The Point Of Distraction-and Ultimately, Without A Major Resolution.