Poetry in notions
Being told there is an invisible being who wants all your money by a man who claims he has been chosen to guard all that money.
Looking back, corridors of my mind are lined with all of the people I have known at length or briefly, and I can see again, like an old movie, with pleasure or pain, in whole films or single frames, all of their faces as they once were.
We all spend our lives now trying not to become data points on a graph.
The process of ageing is one of lifting the veils, one by one, that hide the number of stupid people in the world, until you see clearly the horror, then you die.