What he meant, of course, was that there would always be wars, that they were as easy to stop as glaciers. I believe that, too. And even if wars didn’t keep coming like glaciers, there would still be plain old death.
I have this disease late at night sometimes, involving alcohol and the telephone.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” That was kind of him. He was lying. It had everything to do with me.
And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.