Death is… cheap. I’ll tell you what’s expensive – life, living, staying alive; that’s what.
Surviving. Existing. Fighting to remain here as long as you can.
Avoiding this sort of food. Eating those plants. Gaining weight. Losing some. Defying zika and ebola. And more importantly, keeping your hands and eggs to yourself.
Driving the safest you can and hoping to God that the guy in the Chevrolet behind you isn’t drafting a will. Avoiding the Sosoliso of airlines. Staring rudely at overly bearded co-passengers to make sure ISIL haven’t boarded your flight.
Evading stray bullets and hoping to God they don’t have your DNA inputed in its assembling. Drowning. Showing up to pick your kid at the exact hour the school-shooting guy is making his escape. Depositing money the same hour a heist heats up. Sitting too close to a bag loaded with kaboom-things.
Not being black in America – outside Africa. Praying the doctor’s precise at surgery. That his wife’s made him happy on the morning of your operation.
A thousand and one ways to die, be removed from here suddenly without warning. A thousand and one ways you cannot control. Sometimes, not even how much you breathe in or out.
Death, available everywhere, even on the farthest, loneliest archipelagos, mountain peaks, river depths. Cheap it is. Everyone can afford it. Much cheaper than air. Cheaper than surviving.