I used to think "pacifist" was, like, my whole deal, right? My identity. Now I spend eight hours a day assembling widgets that hum with a sort of cold, electric dread, knowing they’ll end up on a drone somewhere. It’s funny, the smell of the solder reminds me of my dad’s garage, all grease and ambition… but this ambition flies, and it drops things. Sometimes I catch myself humming a lullaby to the buzzing circuit boards, like they’re just little babies I gotta get ready for bed. Gotta keep the lights on, though. My kids need shoes, not my moral superiority.