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THE PROBLEM IS, nothing happens in the world. There is distance: vast stretches, wide dun-colored vistas, jungles, lava flows, river deltas, ice fields. But I can walk out my door and run, literally run into the utterly fixed and frozen. I feel confident these dummies multiply ad infinitum, filling space. The doorman to my apartment—his eyes never leave me. I whack him with the same phrase day after day. He never changes his uniform. His smile is the same. My mother never changes her position on the couch, never cleans her braces. Dad never talks. I have no siblings. It is not that there is nowhere to get to. I could fly far away, in fact I have been all over. The farthest was Prague. People were just standing around.
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