Imagine it’s late afternoon, Sunday. You are curled beneath an afghan, still bloated from the fried fish you inhaled for lunch. You are sleeping heavily. Until your doorbell erupts.
A young woman in a peasant top and floral pencil skirt is standing at your doorstep.
She looks over her shoulder. A tall man wearing a black button-up oxford and a white tie nods from the sidewalk. He’s leaning on an umbrella.
She then looks you square in the eye and says, “Are you ready for the end of the world?”