The Rabbit Hutch

by Tess Gunty

I have never found it easy to distinguish between arousal and a fight-or-flight response.

four o’clock range, two weeks before my death—my most loathed hour. A purgatorial hour, neither afternoon nor evening, too early to eat and too early to drink, an hour that encourages its hostages to tally up their failures, an hour that portrays one’s entire life as a parking garage.