Just when you think it’s safe to come out, another illusion is shattered all to heck. Discovering the truth about falling stars is even more traumatic than finding that Santa doesn’t exist. I think back, recalling all those years of long night watches, lying out on deck, the boat sailing merrily along on autopilot. I spent hours gazing up at the heavens, wishing upon shooting stars. No wonder life is s**t. Wishing on the stuff would probably have that trickle down effect, wouldn’t it?
