It just occurred to me that sitting in this office is a bit
like travelling through space in a tiny spaceship. This is the one room I try
to keep tolerable in terms of temperature, you see, and so going anywhere else in the
house – the kitchen, the living room, upstairs – is like taking a space walk in
the vastness of the frigid cosmos, only less fun. Maybe I should learn the
lyrics to Benson, Arizona and sing them every time I go to
the bathroom. It would help if I had an insulated suit.
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