Forlorn

I wish I could publish something heartfelt, touching, and cogent about Nice. I wish I could find the moral and emotional strength to feel infuriated, passionate or devastatingly indignant, and possibly use those sentiments to fuel a powerfully eloquent statement. I wish I could think of things to say that would not be totally trite and cliché-ridden. Truth is, all I feel at the moment is overwhelming disgust, the most utterly pointless and unproductive of all feelings. There is nothing I can say that has not already been said and endorsed by hundreds of thousands of people across social media platforms, including LinkedIn. So I will say nothing.

I will, however, show you the picture above: this morning, I was driving along Lawrenceville Highway, which goes from Decatur to my home in scenic Tucker, Georgia, and I saw the marquis. I had to stop, have a brief discussion with this business owner, a man I had never met yet wanted to hug like a brother, and take a picture. A picture, as we all know, is worth on average a thousand words. This one is probably worth millions, all of them beautiful, relevant, classy, and utterly humane. And this is what we need now, humanity, because in the end it will be us, the civilized world of humanity, or them, whatever they are.