I’m starting to wonder if it’ll be burnout that kills us. Not nuclear war, not climate change, not the androgenizing of frogs; just old fashioned fatigue. The whole human race collapsing on itself like an old brittle building, a tired packhorse burdened with one load too many.

It’s not surprising I can feel it. I’m pushing half a century, working a job where on time equals late. Now I sense it in others—the foundations cracking, but we keep packing the planet with more people, teaching them our same tired ways.

Turn up the pressure; turn it up. Squeeze more juice from this world before it shuts its doors forever. Perhaps Paul, that old apostle, saw the coming moment when he was caught up in third heaven. Pure energy. The end of all things.