In ten minutes we will be fucked
The world will end not with a whimper or a bang but with a guy on his phone, failing to notice
When I resurfaced in Brooklyn the sky was orange sherbet and the sun a neon blur. Within minutes my hair and dress were smoke-permeated; I would need to wash both in harsh detergent quickly or they'd smell of nature's misfortune forever.
After a morning downtown I knew it would be best to go…