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If I could, over the course of twenty-four hours, dissemble—I’d say systematically because it sounds so much more thorough, but I haven’t yet honed my destructive impulses abilities to that point–someone’s life from the inside out, whose would it be and how?

I’m supposed to be answering, “your name” Isn’t that right? Surely exchanging lives would lead to an increased appreciation for you, a heightened awareness—whoever designated heightened awareness a good thing must have also had a hand in penning these questions—of…the complete hopelessness that characterizes any attempt to have a relationship with me.

And, once I’d sold the movie rights, a tidy profit.

Contrary to widely-embraced opinion—it goes by the name of “fact” in some circles—I don’t actively hate anybody. Certainly not enough to squander my sole opportunity at life-swapping on someone I dislike. Besides, there’s the small matter of what they might do to my life in the meantime, and at the end of this day I’d like to return to find my cell phone intact.

I’d rather trade, I think, with someone scheduled to die that day. Nothing overly gruesome, nothing I might stand a chance of preventing. Cheating death seems a worthwhile pursuit, as well as…a change of pace. Few drawbacks come to mind.

I’d rest.

On the other hand, I might consider the good of humanity, switch with whomever’s running India TV these days, and renew Good Journalism.

He’s not worth it.


About Humbug

My past has a way of making my present feel jealous of the future.