New Year's Eve, Martin was such a riot. Julie said we're condemned to die. Condemned to die? (Won't lie, new diet) Throat torn raw screaming, "End is nigh.” I've got plans, big plans. Tears seep through hands. Mary moved to Portland, (composts, gardens) joined a co-op in July. Doug's still hanging from the ceiling. Left a note, "The end is nigh." Had plans, big plans. Rain tears through hands. Flash forward, few months pass. After dinner, sated, tired. "What were we thinking?" Start mixing paper, plastic, glass. Things piss and shit with children near. Wake up screaming, it's not coming. It's not coming? The future's here.