The Fierce Wind Is Wearing Me Down

By Ryan M. Christman '98

November 2, 2003, around 3 a.m.

Around the corner from the Logan Square bus stop I pry open the massive window of my third-story apartment in a dilapidated 19th century graystone that reeks of squalor and before I write an email I wonder about the dimensions of my cell so I grab my 12-inch wooden ruler and move it along the walls pushing aside furniture and after finding it to be 10-feet square I am curious how many quarter inches that would be and then how many millimeters so while I calculate I lie down on my back on the flea-ridden, plaid futon that came with the furnished apartment that every morning produces fresh bites somewhere on my body and I put my feet up on the wall and kick them to the rhythm of the music I have just begun to compose in my mind.…

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