Bored to Death

From the December 2012 Print Edition

As Paul’s words droned on like the furry buzz of bees, I unfolded off the floor, crammed myself into a window. The sun crawled down onto the horizon and stared at me, as if to say, pay attention, you whose time is so short, you who have no idea on what day your thread will be cut. I stared . . . . Continue Reading »