The Last Man On Planet Earth -

I spent the afternoon sitting on the roof of a skyscraper, watching a pack of wolves hunt through the overgrown grass of what used to be 5th Avenue. The planet is doing just fine without us. Better, actually. The air is so clear it hurts, and the stars at night are so bright they feel like an accusation.

Being the last one isn't about the loneliness—you get used to that. It’s the weight of being the only witness. If a tree falls in the forest and I’m the only one left to hear it, I guess I’m the only one who gets to decide if it made a sound. The Last Man on Planet Earth

Still here. Still breathing. Just a man on a big, green, silent rock. I spent the afternoon sitting on the roof

I found a guitar today in a dusty apartment. I don’t know how to play, but I plucked one string. The note echoed down the hallway, vibrating through the floorboards. It was the only music left in the world. For a second, I felt like the conductor of a ghost orchestra. The air is so clear it hurts, and