I Think About My Death Every Day Because It’s the Only Thing That Matters

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

Several years ago, I was sitting at a bar (remember those?) chatting with a few good friends. My fingers were closed around a tall glass of dark-ale beer, condensation dripping across the back of my hand. I could feel myself growing pleasantly tipsy.

As always, I was inspired by the small head change, and I began to steer the conversation…