Going to United Artists' midnight showing of Batman in theater #4 doesn't mean I deserve to live more than someone who saw Century Cinemas' midnight showing of Batman in theater #9. My belly twists to think of those enduring a desperate reality of bullets and smoke whilst 10 miles away, my cola-filled bladder distracted me from its manufactured counterpart on screen. They died. I didn't. It's a fearsome and terrible befuddlement. My heart wrenches for those who love the injured or dead. I can only pray they'll receive more mollifying comfort than that conceivable by me.