Clocks melt and words dance in the wind. The striped-bellied tachurite tyrant whispers:
“Vocations drying up, nobody wants to be selfless any more, everybody wants their fun.” 1
Frogs wearing glasses have been singing it from the trees for a long time: professions turn into colorful butterflies and selflessness into a bizarre song sung by the stars.
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John Updike ↩︎