East Egg

My nod is tactlessly interrupted by a banging at my front door followed by a commanding voice ordering me to, “Leave Everything!” My poor, measly front door is no match for a banging on of such severity. Surely there is trouble of the gravest of nature afoot, only uniformed officials armed with heavy badges and a low tolerance for humoring one’s self would dare abuse a meek, hollow sheet of kindling with such aggression. They’ll no doubt be bursting through like bulls in an antique shop in seconds rather than minutes.

I should be quite worried, no? But where is the panic? Where is the trepidation? Somehow I can’t muster up the energy for anything other than to mourn the cigarette I was nursing that I now notice has extinguished between my fingers and wonder how long I have before the opiates wear off and the burning pain begins. “Leave Everything!” “Did I hear…

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