“2012! The world will end in 2012!” the man on the bus shouted, waving his arms. He spoke to nobody.
“Lies!” cried a burly, bearded man. “The Lord vouchsafed unto me that the world ends on Christmas in 2033.”
“Idiots,” sneered a slick-dressed man. “The world will end in a few billion years, when the sun burns out.”
As the bus erupted in a welter of conflicting prophecies, I turned to the pale woman beside me. “Don’t you have a date for the Apocalypse?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said, turning wide, dark eyes to me. “It was last Tuesday.”
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