The facade of order.
The weeds seep up through a crack in the pavers. The wrinkles seep up from an epidermis of years. Darwin gets in, eventually, despite our best facade. The relentless urge for energy and growth overtakes everything manicured and organized. Chaos always wins. We paved over a cracked earth to create a road, then painted lines to tell us where to stay. Be safe said the paint, drive straight said the cats eyes, over here whispered the gravel curb. Lines fade. Suns fall. Chaos always wins. His best laid plans came apart that random Tuesday. A 2:38 phone call stunning him silent. Outside, beyond the double glazing, the hum of life, of futile urgency, or plans and agendas and goals, droned on. The facade even has a soundtrack.