The sky is falling! No, wait. That’s not until tomorrow.

You have to love unexpected jolts of unintended meaning.

There you are, sitting in a hotel room, surfing the channels, and the finger on the remote freezes. Your eyes open wide as you stare at the screen.

“Falling Skies Tomorrow,” the blurb at the bottom of the screen says with all the matter-of-factness of a weather report.

You aren’t sure whether to burst out laughing or run for shelter and climb under the wing of Chicken Little.

You wondered the same thing when your neighbor put the Danger: Falling Rock sign in his front yard, leaning it against the giant rock near the Buddha of the Western Paradise.

You laugh. And yet you still keep an eye on the sky, wondering whether Nostradamus started this way.

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