Much of life sounds like feet travelling up a staircase in a public or semi-public corridor. That might-be-coming-here noise. That maybe-it’s-for-me. That can’t concentrate expectant fear, trembling hand hovering between two interrupted once-connected actions murmur

It feels as though I will never catch up. Every time I see the news, a panel show, people playing instruments. Anyone being interviewed on the radio about anything. A name attached to an article. Casual sign-offs (by strangers) to emails.

2099 24 March Dear reader, You might be tempted to throw this manuscript into the fire. But for your own sake, please continue to read. I don’t exaggerate when I say that your life depends upon it. As for me, my life will be over soon enough. Or maybe it will be worse than over. As I type into the wall monitor before me, I leak