We could write a story together 
if we didn't hold back to see
who turned the page first

Whatever happened in the world was a decree from God. A task to be completed. Any crying or joy just got in the way of being useful. Any emotion was decadent. Anticipation or regret was a silly extra. A luxury.

We have waged war, or rather let a war be waged, against all of the animals we eat. This war is new and has a name: factory farming.

She was taking a round of medications, a mystical wheel, the ritualistic design of the hours and days in tablets and capsules, in colors, shapes and numbers.

Written By Don DeLillo

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