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Gossamer Skin and Brittle Bones. It is life that weighs me down. It is a thousand existential crises that sparkle like stars through the night sky of my psyche. My loosened seams let the dust of my doubts spill out and I feel the glares of people who pass me in the street. The resentment of my puppet-strings makes all my movements jerky. My lips are left ribboned, bitten raw to keep from crying out. Black tar to the world.

Alla is a sweet woman, but I realize now that I gave her perhaps too much credit. No more electric for us! Really, though, I like our apartment.