Forty Two

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, is where I wish I was somedays.
You know those days. . . when something ends, or dies or goes horribly amiss? Yah. Those days. Because at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe you have certainty. You see that the universe is ending! You marvel at the spectacle of the universe and come to see it as some enormous, benevolent beast who's heaved it's last breath. When it sighs it's last, galaxies contract and expand, and as it dies the lights go out. . . everywhere. It must be like being in a womb, but who knows. . . is something ejected from the universe at the end? Something we obviously can't see but maybe are a great part of? Does it breach some unseen opening and burst forth into another place of great lights and overwhelming noise and sensation?

I'd like to think so. That way I could get on with my day.

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