There's a lump in the center of my chest. It throbs slightly and slides up and down; it creeps into the base of my throat and then eases itself out again, as if whatever controls its motion is trying to decide whether it wants to see me vomit my heart out or not. Yes, it could be funny, but does the joke justify the mess? And the audience may not see the humor of it.
My gut feels icky; cold and hollow, but not entirely, as if the walls of it are coated with that slime that fills the gel-packs one freezes and stuffs in lunch boxes to keep orange juice cool. Outside, a squirrel darts across the driveway. No, a rabbit. I've never seen a squirrel that moved so fast or with such purpose with such a linear course. No pauses, no deviations -- a straight jet, almost as if the thing had been skewered and yanked across the concrete on a metal rod. (more...)