Thinking back, looking back at old stuff, now filtered thru a gauze of forgotten arguments and with only now-dulled senses of the anger, disappointment, feelings of abandonment, of being run over and left flat, all faded away, it's easy to think "maybe this isn't the right thing to be doing." Our artifacts preserve the frosting of the cake, covering it with a la
yer of clear plastic. But inside, underneath, there are seething insects. Or nothing.