The Day After

I became reassured by the same boring day after day job. The ground was still under my feet and there were no flames burning up the world. No strong men were carrying me off to a concentration camp. And even though it is completely unreasonable to think that the most unthinkable and unspeakable horror—that already experienced by several Hiroshima and Nagasaki survivors known as hibakusha—could not possibly happen—certainly not before January 20, 2017, and, at that, probably nothing unimaginably horrendously frightening until September, say around September 11, as the imagination is wont to take flight—the familiar chains and whips I had known for so long already were very reassuring after the eery air of surreality I had just undergone last night at midnight and some of which I still woke up with trying to fit into my perception (and see in it a positive view) a very unwanted and even more unexpected reality than that which things seemed to be moving to.

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