The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. But I shan’t try to stop you.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyNy4xNjEuMTMyIC0gMDgtMDUtMjAyNCAwODowMjoxOSAtIDUyNDU3Mzg4Nw==
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