At present, I work nights, in an attempt to recoup my financial losses quickly. Stacking shelves doesn’t absorb much mental power, so at night I listen to audio books and dream of new escapes. In my more histrionic moments, I cast myself as a reverse economic migrant, exiled to home to pay my debts. I never said I was a reasonable man. Continue reading “Mea Culpa.”
The Worlds Outside 