Someday, you’re going to die.
Maybe it will be something sudden. You’ll be crossing a bridge, walking your bike with the pedestrian light, and a drunk driver will whip through the intersection, not notice the blinking light, and you’ll be Humpty Dumpty.
Maybe it will be something longer. Cancer, maybe. Cancer gets lots of people.
Or maybe, just maybe, you’ll actually go the distance. Maybe you’ll avoid all the accidents, not get cancer, not get Alzheimer’s. Maybe it will be old age that gets you. You’ll be a hundred and ten. You’ll have arthritis and bad bowels and all your faculties, but a tiny blood vessel in your brain will explode and you’ll have a stroke and be dead before you hit the floor.
And guess what? There’s not a single fucking thing you can do about it.
Nothing. NO-thing. No amount of hand cream or botox or…
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