One morning the world ended. It wasn’t a long, staggering affair, the way you’d imagine it. It didn’t wheeze hours before it died, with moments left to look back fondly on the good times and the bad times. In instances of honest torpor, those polarities don’t exist. No last great show. The unanswered questions remain so, and everything that was ever bright and beautiful shines equally as radiant against everything that was ever vile and unmentionable. And that was life. If anyone cared to ask.