The things I have so long feared about the future are, day by day, slipping into my past tense
Early last week, my smoke alarms began going off a few times a day. I began to move around my basement apartment in Portland, Oregon, with a scowl, noise-canceling headphones swinging around my neck. On the one hand, because there were no fires nearby, the alarms were not doing their job. The system was too sensitive, the boy was crying wolf. On the other hand, the alarms were working just fine: there was smoke. It was everywhere.
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