Thus I to myself as I plough through the milling crowd. Here a pack of screeching teenagers, there a gaggle of old ladies on crutches and plenty of lipstick. “What a loss,” I keep mumbling to myself. Here a buxom bitch on improbably high heels, there a bald peacock with a shamelessly flaming tie. “What a loss.” Here a mangled beggar, there a truculent jogger in top gear. “Ah,” I raise my gaze toward the sky, “what a loss!” For Mother Earth will smother them soon enough. They will perish in droves. Millions upon millions. “What a loss,” I keep shaking my head as I push my way through the pressing crowd. I am only kidding, it goes without saying, but the phrase is still dear to me. Actually, I find it no less than enchanting as of late. “What a loss,” I suddenly turn somber and almost lose my stride, “not to have all this vermin to laugh at all day long!”