The sky tonight, so without aliens. The woods, very lacking in witches. But the people, as usual, replete with people. & so you, with your headset, sit in the home office across the hall, stuck in a hell of strangers crying, computers dying, the new father’s dropped-in-toilet baby photos, the old Canadian, her grandson Gregory, all-grown-up-now Greg, who gave her this phone but won’t call her.
