Friends and passersby always ask me: “How do you do it, Susie? Your insouciant style, your ageless spring, the innocent way you—“
Oops. No one says that. Fuck it.
I’m not known for looking younger. I have silver hair, and my wrinkles can blast out the sun with their authority.
I do, however, feel better than I have in a long time. I’m able to move freely about the cabin. I am dialed into life’s small pleasures— all the more crucial in a totalitarian fugue state.