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The day everything became nothing, I was standing underneath astreetlight, wishing I had a cigarette. I can't recall anythingunusual about it. If there was something in the air, if the skies hadclouded over, I wasn't aware, I was too bored to care. No thunderroared. No lightning cracked. No missiles rained from the sky. Thiswas no sneak attack. There was just suddenly this awful lack. Thingshad changed, that's for sure.
The day everything became nothing, you couldn't put your finger onwhat had gone wrong. The alleys were still dirty; the garbage stillsmelled; there was no panic in the streets; just a lot of grief--inpeople's faces, in their eyes--a mixture of horror and total surprise.
This was no apocalypse. No one heard a voice from the sky, there wereno miracles at the 7-
Eleven, no one screamed, no one even asked why.
It was just like everything had somehow, quietly died. So let it die!I can't recall much of what happened next. I was on my way to visitthis woman I knew. All we had in common was good sex, and now Icouldn't even remember her address. A group of us, just strangers,got together and we formed a committee to discuss the problem. Wetalked about things like assured mutual destruction and emotionalresponsibility. I couldn't remember my name, so I called myself Bob.
It's weird being a Bob, but I'll get used to it. I have to.
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