Fuck

I believe the world has only been around for seven years. The first six and seven-eights years were eggs rubbing together in a vast expanse of chrome and sunlight. In the last eighth of the seventh year, the eggs began to vibrate and hatch. Everyone in all the eggs died from exposure. Their flesh fried and stuck to the metal and cooked onto it so you couldn’t see the shining any longer. In our memories we saw reflected in the flesh the mirage of everything we now believe to be our history.