Deep roots support moments of courage such as this one. Still, the train is endless. There is too much steel for too long and maybe the body deserves a chance to speak after all—that thing about last words. Maybe I should keep my name, maybe I should die a conventional death with easily identifiable spoils and nice remains. The truth is, I never pictured myself caring about these sorts of details. I find myself caught up in a surprising metaphysics. If I were a believer, I might believe someone wanted me to reconsider things. How does it go again? “Thank God I’m an atheist.”
