To say I’d like to stop dwelling is beside the point. Sure, I’d love to clear the rot. I’m envious, for example, of people obsessed with the Civil War, which brims with details but is contained. In my case, the monsters recede but never vanish. They are long dead and being born as I write. The first one, faceless and never caught, marked me at fourteen, and I’ve been turning my back on good times in search of answers ever since.
