It's so calm, so rigid, this lifestyle. It's prepackaged and served and not at all exciting. It almost makes you wish your life was worse, that you'd been born into more dire circumstances. It would be quite dramatic. You'd fight and struggle and come out on top in the end and it would be great because you knew you could do it all along. You could rise out of poverty, you could feed your starving people, escape from political persecution. And then you could write a book about it.

But no. Life here is quite boring and unchanging and ordinary. It wouldn't make for a very good book.

Unless maybe, if you looked closer at each and every person. Maybe you could find a good story there. But it's usually all bottled up. So well treated by the medicine of culture and society.

Nothing inspires here. There's no hope amidst the ritzy shops and tourists, and the beaches and the sunbathing and the bike rides and the butterflies. Dull.

How do you escape the calm? Do you have to make your own storm? Do you care enough to do it? Do you even want to?

We can't forget that this is a game. This is the game. We will all die, and in the mean time, we all dance on strings that were made long before us.

Who has scissors?