My children, 11-year-old twins, vaguely college-bound, will be entering the workforce right as the compost hits the turbine. I know I’m supposed to look at them and apologise for the sins of our fossil-fuelled world and chain myself to the doors of a coal plant to hasten mitigation.
But that would be an awful embarrassment to my daughters, and I’m shy. And I’m not that worried about history judging me. History is gonna be kinda busy.
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