If fists were flower buds of love. If annihilation could striptease into hard-bodied elation. If racists, abusers, and misogynists became alchemists, dog groomers, and climatologists. If nuclear winter were just a long dream of spring. If clocks took an occasional time out to give us more breathing room between good times and the grave. If lies wore prison stripes and could be easily recognized. If political gridlock were just a minor fender bender on the road to full recovery.

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