The old man has started to rant about leaving his closest family, about spending more time with his children. The children within earshot roll their eyes: they remember how he left them before.
All certainty is a lie at this point. Only shouting loudly in the face of a loved one is acceptable now. It’s like deciding what to have for dinner at tea time, with a child shouting.
The anger of the extremes – the most certain in the least tenable of views – are the ones who have put us in this position. I am sick of them.