I've had a relapse. Dame Fortune has given me a glimpse of life as a fully sensate being, and then cruelly slammed the door. Once again I can't smell or taste a thing; for lunch I got a steaming bowl of Mexican chicken soup, replete with cilantro and habaneros, and it might just as well have been runny wallpaper paste.
I recant. Religion is an opiate, God is dead, and Hitchens, though something of a douche, is right.
