I am not implying that each and every Chinese should not have the right to own a car, but rather, we’re all pretty much history if they do. Like, no more air left to breathe.

Not a problem, you say, the environment is resilient, look, even the old, threatening extinction every fifteen minutes, elephant has brought its population high enough to be hunted again.

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They can’t even deal with auto emissions in a liberty-challenged country like the U.S.S.A., so what are they gonna do with another billion smoke stacks in China and India, at least. If you still can care, take out some aggression on those most audacious drivers you see this month.

Or, just stand at a tram stop, at rush hour and breathe in your brothers’ and sisters’ inhalants (read: smoke flowers), and meditate on the children standing next to you, or on the slowness of our canine citizenry. Or go to the Temelin rally and ground yourself in the tangible, graspable eco-stress, not to mention, a good cause.

Raise your hand if you’re caustic.

Hurtling towards judgment day, and sweating next to a guy who has painted corporate logos all over his moderately hairy ectomorphic epidermis, I wax sentimental for all the lunatics in the world, those who make, create, and perform.

And I feel sorry for the short skirted girls who stare in the shoe store windows all day, and complains that she’s bored, it must be hard to realize that reproduction is an anachronism, even detrimental to those around her, all the while being mesmerized by trinkets of mass production.

(All love searches for an original, or at least a stray).

Fortunately, there’s too much going on right here and now, to worry about her place in the world, bored and wearing different shoes. Some people tell you to go kill yourself when you reflect on the state of our evolution, some invite you to join them, all come to wonder within the walls of Prague.

Some even venture into the churches to imagine the fire and brimstone, fear and begging for forgiveness that when this day came, on the day of the Handover, we would be engaged, present, united. Instead, we’re bored; of staring at shoes, of hearing the news.

Look around, you’ve come to the right place, there’s lots to do, and no one needs a clue, but even if you stop, and you feel something deep inside you pop, rejoice that, in these last days and times, that you didn’t even consider for a split second that you ever wanted to become a cop.