And when it comes down, will we all be swallowed in a blue-violet mist, praying to celebrity entertainers to carry us up to their high towers? Or will they go first, engulfed by an inverted deluge welling down from the sky? Will our arks be subway trains burrowing below the flood? Will parched rats scramble off looking for olive pits to bring back to show us the way to the sanctuary of RRT?
What covenant can we make in the stinking shell of Union Station? And who will be there to make it?