All Is Going Well, Very Well, I

I Doubt That America Will Come To Europe Again. You'll Be On Your Own Against Militant Islam.

Peter, You're Twelve Years Old. I'm Ten. They Have A Word For People Our Age. They Call Us Children And They Treat Us Like Mice.

We Don't Read Novels To Have An Experience Like Life. Heck, We're Living Lives, Complete With All The Incompleteness. We Turn To Fiction To Have An Author Assure Us That It Means Something.

Maybe We're The Fools, For Thinking We Know Things. Maybe Humans Are The Only Ones Who Can Deal With The Fact That Nothing Can Ever Be Known At All.

We're Like The Wicked Witch. We Promise Gingerbread, Then Eat The Little Brats Alive.