I don’t always see the difference between children and adults. Rather, I don’t see adults, only children. Children everywhere, shopping with pushchairs, snoring in suits on morning trains, smoking outside bars of an evening: children all. I see them now with tinsel and antlers on their heads, Santa hats, stressing about the last days at work, meeting up with family, squeezing in their end-of-term office drinks with suitcases and bags of gift-wrapped presents, rushing round the supermarkets, loading up their cars with their own children. No one gets much beyond childhood. But some have the chance to live for longer.
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