Yes.

Another day, typical as any other, but there's a catch. Today is the only June 27, 2005 that will ever exist. In around 34 minutes, this day will be wiped clean, and open only to discussion by those who experienced it. There's nothing concrete, physical or even true about what is left of June 27 save that June 28 will soon follow. People are fools, our memory imperfect, our fingers imprecise, and tomorrow, oh sweet tomorrow, we celebrate the death of June 27. But we have to know there's nothing there.

To mark June 27 would be monitor the things that changed during that day. We acknowledge change in every way, in everything, it surrounds and shapes us. And because of this, and because we cannot fathom every particle that change has eroded, our record is imperfect. Without knowledge of the full extent of change, we cannot know what is constant. The sun still hangs in the air, but is it closer or farther, brighter or hotter? We don't know. And without any trace of any constant, history is deemed false, simply by omition.

Thus, June 27, I wish you a silent doom, that you may slip beneath us and around us, and disappear to nothing. The present demands your death. The present is your executioner. And the present isn't wrong. But this is.