““I gaze at the small, crisp, burned-out black husks scattered across the windowsills. It is hard to believe that they were ever alive. I wonder what it would be like to be shut up in this airless glass box, slowly baked for two long months by the rentless sun, able to see the outdoors-the wind shaking the green trees right there in front of you-hurling yourself again and again at the invisible wall that seals you off from everything that is real and alive and necessary, until eventually you succumb, scorched, exhaused, overwhelmed by the impossibility of the task.””
