In a three dimensional biography
you’re either warding off fatigue,
waiting for bed time,
or else laying there, anxious
for the sun’s arrival.
(Those expecting anything more soon
drift from the fiction section.)
There was once a man who lurked and darted about amongst the forest, the library, and general social gatherings, who, periodically coming to a sudden stop and lightly touching his nose, would whisper, “Ahh, I smell a wall.”
One reader writes in with the question…
In times of stress,
stress is best.
Plagiarism of thought
is the “acceptable form.”