Like a Big Bang in reverse, I shrink up into a single point of mass and light. This is a new escape, prompted by crowded moments on the subway or city streets. New York is an economy seat, and I am suddenly aware of the length of my legs. ¶
How do you live in a place where you can’t hear crickets out of a summer window? I wrote this line down as nostalgia, but it is now a vital ecological concern as I have tried to integrate insects into my diet. Laura is convinced I am a vegetarian, and she is unimpressed by my consistent denials. My claims that cereal and salad are just cheaper have fallen on deaf ears, so I pleaded guilty and am awaiting sentencing. ¶
There is a new roommate whose name might have been Camel but is actually Camelle or something like that. He is French and polite and shy in the normal way, not the I just got off a plane from another continent way. He had not heard of Michigan, which is a forgivable offense. He is here for a horrifyingly dull internship in supply-chain management in Westchester, which might not be. ¶
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