So the rest of humanity can have life. We've got death. It all evens out. And in the end, we win. Because the meaning of life is death.
People are just bags of guts to grease the machine.
They make more to keep the machine running so it can ultimately kill them, and in the process they squeeze out a few more. Yin and Yang. It's a cycle. I'm sweating, a bit delirious perhaps but not so much that I can't see it coming. Wired on stale coffee and soured creamers, high on day-old adrenaline.