Drogon flew and flew.
What was wrong with all these garbage people, he thought. Drogon could totally think things like this because he was a completely sentient being.
One year and four cycles ago, our pan-am mega-island boldly ceded all authority, marketshare, and event planning to Amber Jambers, its First & Only Celebritator. Under her divine, righteous and benevolent leadership™, our new society finally remembered trash day, and left like 100 bags out for the garbage truck of history. Free from the detritus of a corrupted society, we, led by Amber Jambers, forged the most shiny path under the banners of Totality, Currency, and Libbers. So let’s party!
In my recently published article “Don’t Change a Thing, People,” which is nominated for several prizes, I discuss in detail the many reasons why we must put off for now solving the problems that most vex us. The main reason, as I clearly and even eloquently state in “Thing,” is that nothing useful can be done at this time. This simply isn’t the year or even century when the most pressing issues facing mankind can be resolved either entirely or in part. Time is fleeting, and in large part has fled quite a ways distant from us, to another galaxy. The time we should have spent getting things under control is now hovering around in space somewhere, lost to us forever.
I used to love it when, upon re-entering the country after traveling abroad, I’d get a customs agent who’d stamp my passport, look up and say, “Welcome home Ms. Laurent.” I’ve been traveling a lot lately and with strangers I use a fake name. Josephine. Online I’ve started using the moniker Howard LaGrunt. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s a protection mechanism, maybe it feels like my name is irrelevant, or maybe my name is just nobody’s bee’s wax. I was standing in a TSA line this week holding my boarding pass and I.D. and as I looked at my license it felt like I didn’t recognize my own name.
Every school year would end the same way. Signing yearbooks. Exchanging telephone numbers. Telling people that we should totally hang out over the summer and then never seeing or speaking to them again. I would look my peers in the eye while saying my goodbyes and think, “This is the summer where I break the five-foot barrier. You wait and see.” And every summer I would return from break to find that the exact opposite had happened; everyone had sprouted upward and I had remained the same size. Year after year. The same thing.