How many ways are there to die as you hunt out here in the icy Minnesota winter? Too many: frost-bite, wild animals, disease, starvation. More if you count the dead things hunting you in turn. The worst has to be the same people you'd hoped you could count as allies here at the end of the world. Hate, though, as blinding as the snow, has a way of making even the end of the world seem like just another day at work in years past, riding a lawn-mower and enjoying the sunshine. There and then, at least, God never hated you for being gay...
No comments:
Post a Comment