Where else would I go? The thought caught me of guard, crossing the street from the nail salon of all places. Bee stuck in honey. Perished fish floating in the water. The very thing it needed, killed it. Death struck me as a holiday, as if I could become a naturalized citizen there and hide some money there, offshore, for the purposes of taxation. Or maybe I’d materialize into one of my parallel lives, sitting sweating at a softball game somewhere or maybe busy being an amoeba. I never thought of myself as a flower, a reincarnated carnation if you will. I never considered myself an able spirit, spying on my boyfriend and seeing what they’d do with my words. I only really considered myself picking up my zippered suit of a body again, with nary the old goal of business school or publication, stuck only on gorging myself on the sweet sticky prettiness of living.