Have a drink while we spin around a star.
If I am alive!
You are, if not unique. Welcome, in any case. Our galaxy contains at least 2 billion planets just like Earth – and you arrive here.
Where else? I put myself first. As the suns light my mornings, I like to get to the pool early. No man can cling to a dismal rock for eternity.
How’s the water?
Thank you for the drink. Your words, however, unnerve me. I’m not here by chance.
You are tired.
I’ve been orbiting my parents for a lifetime. Of course I’m tired.
Across the sky, flitting light. Not stars as such, but gilded shards. They continue to fall, piercing horizon upon horizon. Some say they will ignite briefly over the deepest darkest parts of the ocean, to be seen only by the whales and the dolphins as they break upwards from the blue. Some say the shards will spark and burn their way through the atmosphere, burying themselves blackly, finally, into the cold tundras of the Arctic north. Some say they will flicker like fireworks over Hawaii. But no human should worry. The death of one more satellite is of no concern.