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I probably drive too much, and I barely drive at all. I’ve never been one of those people who drives for half the day and then goes to sleep. I don’t know how they do it. My car has 160k miles on it, and it’s over 12 years old. That means I drive just over 13,000 miles a year, which isn’t all that much. I’ve known people who cross 50k routinely. If you drive an hour and back to work every day, that’s probably close to your numbers, as well.

Anyway, thinking of all those ladies and gents in warzone areas for US wars of imperialism. Those people DIE sometimes, man. They DIE. So we can go to our job at XYZ Widget Corp and think about how best to squeeze money out of some system established decades ago that probably isn’t the best, or even the most efficient at extracting wealth for whatever we “produce”, it’s just the one that we found, that’s still here. It lasted long enough to attract us, like moths to a flame, to it’s geyser of currency. And someone DIED so we could drive there in our little box with four wheels and an exhaust pipe and sit in a chair feeding this beast, like conductors shoveling the coal of our ideas in to the furnace of… Well, whatever the hell the furnace is. I’ll allow you to construct your own metaphor for that one.

And if that wasn’t enough, there is someone out on the other side of that oilfield who just happened to be unlucky enough to be born there. To have some sort of “birthright” to that oilfield, or maybe just the location of a natural strategic base that overlooks that oilfield. Maybe they have a family and they farm some sort of dry arabic foodstuff that is only profitable in arid localities. Maybe they DIED, for strategic interests of a foreign power.

Anyway, I hope the 13 gallons I just pumped never killed anybody, (except maybe dinosaurs, who would have died anyway).
Ona Lark

Author Ona Lark

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