We have to get out of this somehow. Explode all this. Light the fuse.
Perhaps it’s already lit. Perhaps the fuse is just very long.
We’re the fuse, don’t you see? Livia lit us …
And we’re going to explode? Like Livia’s suicide bombers? Is that our fate?
We’ll only make sense if exploded: that’s what Livia thought. As philosophical grenades, pins pulled out …
Work in Progress 