“Bobby's in the loony bin.”

“What!? Mom, what happened?

“He snapped I guess. He ran out onto the porch at his apartment and screamed 'Fire! The world is on fire!' and the manager called the cops and all the old people just stood around while the cops came and the psych techs assessed him and then he was carted off to the psych ward.”

“My brother's right you know. The world is burning, and it's only going to get worse. The Amazon's on fire. Greenland is melting. Bobby is right.”

“So? You're not supposed to shout it from your porch. No one wants to hear that shit. Try it yourself. You'll find out soon enough.”

“We should be marching in the streets with banners saying the world's on fire.”

“Yeah. Try that and you'll find out how the suits sic their skinhead goons on you and then you'll be in the part of the hospital where they treat skull fractures.”
“Maybe I'll be able to see him through the fence. Say hi.”

“At least the two of you will be together. Think of me, will you?”

“It really is that bad, Mom. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I do. I sign every fucking petition I see in my inbox. Nothing happens. The democrats won't even debate the climate. Sanders has a plan and no one will talk about it. I think we all deserve to fry.”

“I agree, Mom. I love you.”

“I'll try and make that my last thought. I love you too.”