Souls in bodies for sale. Put on a shelf, past their shelf life. Crumpled packaging about to expire. What are they worth? Zero production; no reproduction. Sages for sale, packed in warehouses we call ‘homes’. Out of sight, they’re out of their minds, faded memories, remembered rejection. Why? Who’s next? The women and children are already queuing. Who’s next, when the years come rolling along and land at your unsteady feet?