Every day I sigh as I open the door. But some sighs are relief and
some are not. The world shrinks around me, and only if I make an
effort does it grow again in my mind. And later I stumble out the
door into the cool air, and the noise. Am I leaving home? I'm
shredding the film that has coalesced around me. I slide into place
and fire up my shredding machine, position it for slicing along the
pathways to expansion.

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