Another anecdote springs to mind. Last week at the Toxic Waste Dump, Harmony asked me what I thought would be the coolest way to die. Before I reflexively blurted out a stock response like “naked in a car crash with the tunage cranked to eleven” I paused and thought of a person like me, growing up in a flower-free part of the world and driving to the ocean in a little blue sports car won on a game show, down south to California, and admiring an acid-yellow field of zinnias. Suddenly, whoosh! along comes a blast of Pacific wind, rousing the zinnias into a pollen fervor and blasting me with yellowness, shake-and-baking me with a substance I had no idea I was allergic to, and within moments, I go into anaphylactic shock and am dead.
“I don’t know, Harmony. Naked in a car crash, I guess. With the tunage cranked up to eleven.”
(Source: books.google.com)
