Clumsy Analogs and the Discerning Audience

I catch myself objecting to stories with happy endings. I don't think I like happy endings. They make liars of us. And, in future generations, our children will be burned by our error. In this metaphor, cynicism is like melanin. And reality is a noonday sun.

There are so many things I need to make time for. I don't know where to begin.

I like my face today. Maybe I'll take it somewhere.