My father told me there was a branch of history concerned with the future. Those historians looked back on what their ancestors had expected of the coming days. Maybe it was a kind of smug exercise, a way of laughing at our own stupid expectations. Even the smartest futurists never got it right. I know a bit about what they expected: peace, abundance, a settling down of the hateful currents in the heart of our species. We got some of that. But the old currents persisted too and ran into the new ones, and what emerged was a kind of violent meeting of both. Beauty, food, exploration, and
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