““I don’t understand death. For that matter, I don’t really understand life. You live. You suffer. You die. It hardly seems worth doing. Yet, here I am, robotically taking a fresh breath every few seconds, standing in this awkward brown and orange polyester waitress uniform, pretending to listen to Mr. Chester go on about his bunions for the second time this week, pouring the evening’s thirty-second cup of coffee and trying so hard to put the events of the last four weeks behind me.””
