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by Richard Haxton

Yesterday I saw a man in town.
He was on the street saying – The end of your world is going to happen now
No. No. The end of your world is going to happen now. No. NO. The end of your world is going to happen now. No. No. …
So I went home and asked the great philosopher, my wife, about this.
And she said — He was right. Every time.
And I said — But honey, o great master, how can this be?
And she said — My son, I mean my husband, what I mean is that the world dies and is reborn in every moment.
And I said — But my love, how is this possible?
She said — Because, just as everything that is present slips into the past, everything that is future slips into the present.
I said — My dear, do you mean that the present, which is the place where the future becomes the past, is actually an illusion?
And she said — No, dear, what I mean is that that, since all exchange of information is limited by the speed of light, to me, you, like a distant star, are in my past. The illusion for you is that I am in your future and to you, I, like a distant star, am in your past and the illusion for me is, or rather was, that you are in my future and at this juncture I must say that I have fallen in love with another man and would like a immediate divorce.
And I said — Now I understand, my dear, that man on the street yesterday was right