Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre

by Max Brooks

These trees are happy. Yes, I said it. Why wouldn’t they be, in this rich, soft, rain-washed soil. A few with light, speckled bark and golden, falling leaves. They mix in among the tall, powerful pines. Some with their silver-bottom needles or the flatter, softer kind that brushed gently against me as I walked by. Comforting columns that hold up the sky, taller than anything in L.A., including those skinny wavy palms that hurt my neck to look up at.

Selfless suffering feels good for short crusades, but as a way of life, it’s unsustainable.

They also weren’t judgy about those of us who aren’t vegan. Does that sound judgy from me? You know what I’m talking about: all the vegans in Venice, especially the new ones. The way they’d look at Dan’s leather shoes or my silk blouse or how one of them called a fish tank a prison. Seriously, we were at someone’s house for a party and this guy totally went off on them about their koi pond. “How’d you like it if you were imprisoned in a tiny air bubble at the bottom of the ocean!” The Boothes weren’t like that. They were so nice. And Dan loved their housewarming gift.

Denial is an irrational dismissal of danger. Phobia is an irrational fear of one.

“They’re wonderful.” Mostar smiled warmly and put a hand on my arm. “Thank you.” Her eyes shifted to the flowers rising from the flames. “I like to think that beauty can come from fire.”

It’s great to live free of the other sheep until you hear the wolves howl.

A lie will gallop halfway round the world before the truth has time to pull its breeches on. —CORDELL HULL, secretary of state to President Franklin Delano Roosevelt

You can’t blame the people in Greenloop for having their cupboards bare. The whole country rests on a system that sacrifices resilience for comfort.