He sits looking out the window, feeling ill. The signs pass by infrequently as he travels to his destination. The world outside these glass windows looks lovely, the green of the trees a lovely contrast against the cloud studded sky.

Yet, he feels ill. Not just the lurching feeling in his stomach from hunger. Not just the hard swallow of intense thought. He feels ill at ease. Like something is going to go wrong today. Unable to shake the feeling, he looks down, wondering what it is that has his nerves on end.

Where did this feeling come from? Maybe it's all the doom and gloom of various political books being read. Maybe it's the ever-increasing insecurities of a world steeped in countless problems that can't be solved. Or perhaps it's the dissatisfaction with work and the stiffling of creativity he feels.

Looking out at the world. Looking out from this chair at the world on the other side of the glass. He wonders.

Where are we going?

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