It is given to some of us to bury the dead. There are no tears for we, there is no mourning. The earth does not move for our salted eyes, only for our gnarled hands. The dead do not move themselves for our wailing, only for our shovels. You living, you will not suffer the dead among you. And so there are we, who remove the unsightly from your presence, take from you the grim reminder that what is, will, in time, not be. So mourn, you lucky, mourn and weep. Shed your tears and your sorrows, because we cannot. It is given to some of us, to bury the dead.

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I looked out onto a sea of asphalt, stretching into eternity. For a moment, I was neither afraid nor shaken. The harsh reality did not settle and I could simply gaze upon an eternity of harsh gray. No tree, no sprig of grass, no animal, nothing but the cold, hard unfeeling product of man’s dominion. As though the product of all of man’s hubris throughout time had been vomited upon the infinite plane of time and space. Man’s ever burning desire to conquer had finally manifested itself in this desperate covering.

I do not miss my eyes, they were the first to go.