The prophets predicted six years, the scientists said three. No one knows who to believe. No one trusts anyone's judgement. We all know it is happening. We can feel it, like a rash on our skins, expanding, growing, itching. Franz and Marge won't tell me anything, I have to gather the news from scraps I find in the bins, from full out-of-date milk cartons, from rotten carrots and orange eggs. I like to pretend that I know it all, that I've figured it out. It scares the shit out of them. They deserve it. They deserve it for not doing anything when change was still a possibility. They deserve it for only minding their own fucking business. So many refugees, millions dead, billions suffering. How soon is now? How young is too old?