In the summer months, mayflies drop by the billions within twenty-four hours of birth. Drone ants perish in two weeks. Daylilies bloom and then wilt, leaving dead, papery stalks. Forests burn down, replenish themselves, then disappear again. Ancient stone temples and spires flake in the salty air, fracture and fragment, dwindle to spindly nubs, and eventually dissolve into nothing. Coastlines erode and crumble. Glaciers slowly but surely grind down the land. Once, the contine

There is, I hereby humbly submit, no more appropriate theatre for Pascal’s double infinity than the self-checkout lane of a large, fluorescently lit supermarket at 6:42 p.m. on a weekday. Not a cathedral. Not an observatory. Rather, a supermarket, where the piped-in music is a faintly traumatized cover of a song that was once upbeat (think “Imagine” by Avril Lavigne or “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’ ” by Jessica Simpson), and the Bartlett pears are individually stickered

David Sherman Across the country, we’re loading the shotguns, tying the nooses. There’s nothing to live for anymore. The U.S. beat Canada in Olympic hockey by one goal in overtime and we might as well kill ourselves or let Trump have the country. We’re facing a Great Replacement crisis, greater than that of the devout Christian white MAGA-heads on the other side of the Gordie Howe bridge. It’s not that the Chinese will take the Stanley Cup and melt it into an EV, but when tha