I See You've Called in Dead

by John Kenney

“We’ve served our tour,” Howard said. “We’re done. Oh sure, we had a few bright, shining moments. The Renaissance, the Enlightenment, D-Day, the moon landing, antibiotics, Pringles. But the bad outweighs the good.”

There are 161 songs about New York City, more than any other city in the world. There is a reason for that. Despite the noise and the outrageous cost, the crowds and truly repulsive smells, it is unlike anywhere else.

Maybe we’re all obituary writers. And our job is to write the best story we can now.”

Learning about dying taught him how to live.”

I wouldn’t change a day of my life. I’d just like more of it.’”

“I’m afraid,” I said. “Of what?” “Dying. Because I’m not sure I’ve ever really lived.

How rude of the dead to die. How selfish. Wherever they are, no pain, in eternal darkness or wondrous afterlife. And here we are, tears streaming down our cheeks, the knotted stomach and clammy palms, a feeling akin to falling, in a dream that won’t end.

The greatest wonder is that every day, all around us, people die, but we act as if it couldn’t happen to us.

there is literally a one-in-four-hundred-trillion chance of ever being born