V: You do know that grenade's gonna pop one of these days, right? I avoided, but someone else...
Ozob: I know, I know. We will die someday. Least when I do, there'll be fireworks.

People imagine it as a great border wall, a one-time solution to protect humanity forever. Whereas it's more like a torn-open trash bag taped over a busted window.

Not the brightest bulb on stage, are ya?

Now, as that ol' Greek dawg says, life's a banquet - so don't go thirsty, but don't get drunk, either.

The wind whistling through boarded-up windows. Tumbleweeds scratching across dry, sandy tracks. That's how towns die. Not with a bang, but with whispers and whimpers.