A few minutes ago, while shaving, I remembered that I hadn’t sent this email yet, although I wrote most of it last night (everything up to the paragraph about snow). I felt bad because you probably think I’m not thinking of you. So I put down the razor, turned off the water, and headed to my desk to send the email. On the way there I imagined myself standing with a group of strangers across the street and watching our building burn to the ground. Every few minutes or so someone new would join the group and slowly realize (I would watch this as it happened) that I must live in the burning building because half my face isn’t shaven.