When you’ve burned all the bridges and closed all the doors, the only direction left is forward. That is, until you run out of gas and the motor stalls. The dust settles. You step out of the car.

You wander off the road into the surrounding forest. The sun sets and shadows stretch, shifting the overgrowth until the way back is lost.

As the moon rises and stars flicker through gaps in the canopy, you smile. “Forward,” you say, “such a quaint idea.” The moon smiles back.

Welcome to Life 4.0, rev 6.

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Because the dust always settles