 Was it a vision of our most beautiful self in the mirror of the aftermath, trying to decide which personal belongings had enough DNA to match the remains of our missing persons? Was it the way picking out burial clothes rehearsed our own last wills and testaments? Was it the long train ride down the coast with a vessel of ashes to scatter off the keys so that they may take root between the ocean and the sea? It's easy to say these are the last days every time the last days