If Einstein's right, then space and time are all one thing, and it's all a big glass football, with a big bang at one end and a big crunch at the other, and all the moments making up our lives are there forever. Nothing's moving, nothing's changing, like a reel of film with all the frames fixed in place until the projector beam of our consciousness plays across them, and then Charlie Chaplin doffs his hat and gets the girl. Everybody is on an endless replay, every moment is forever, and every miserable wretch is one of the immortals, every clearance area the Golden City.