The End is Near
So says the sign held by a thin bearded guy who’s dressed in sandals and long robe. It’s obvious to us who live outside of the cartoon panels of The New Yorker Magazine that he’s about to be struck by a piano that’s falling inexplicably from a 10th story window.
The prophet of doom won’t make it to Armageddon, see the consequences of global warming and won’t be around for the impact of the meteor that will bring human existence to a fiery end.
Back at home, the prophet’s wife and children wait, their dinner of locusts and wild honey gone cold on top of the stove. Tomorrow the oldest son, Obadiah, will hand-letter a new sign, and stand at the corner at 5th Avenue and 56th Street.












