Non sequitur

A man was sitting in bed, reading a book about the moon falling apart, and then having its orbit-beholden pieces collide more and more and more, until enough of those pieces came cascading down into earths surface to change planetary atmosphere and make it uninhabitable for thousands of year.

A light, but gripping read.

there is no reason why any of this should hang together, He thought. At best this is a prolonged exercise in futility, he thought. That thought began to fester like an itchy yeast, a malevolent foreign host, and he wished instead of opening up the book, he would have taken a cold shower and lain down on a bed of nails.

He was not a poet or a rock star or a playwright or a sculptor or any kind of artist in love with misery or suffering or infused with “spirituality.”He was not the type to be lulled into a hobby like a docile corpulent toad.

It was a Tuesday night in October. He worked in geothermal energy markets.