The future is a terrible place. It's heaven, hell, and purgatory's lavatory. Wishes are fish stories, t h i s b i g and full of holey space. Grander larcenies exist than the imagination's theft of the present's gifts, but the sentence for looking ahead is a life of death death death death and pain. Anguish is a shattered ice hotel that you never built or saw an image melting at the jagged edges dripping into the stream of every wasted hour.