Tonight we visited the Den of Smoke - stinging eyes and putrid hair. Conversation included death and racism. Are we really such a different generation than our grandparents? Being there reminds me of my screen series, though. Each of us looks through a haze of our own creation, our own bigotries, our own enthusiasm and despair - in this case even a literal haze of cigarette smoke that declining health and science cannot quelch. This is a darker side to the series than I have yet explored, but perhaps I should explore this generational gap. Will we become like our grandparents and obsess over our age and the changing world? Will our smoke become thicker the longer we live and eventually obliterate the scenery around us, closing off our intent to remain open-minded and optimistic?