The Invisible Man
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     Went to the front window again on a commercial break. Nothing. No one on the lawn.

     Returned to the couch. This shark thing is out of control. I’m practically glued to the television. The news broadcasts cut back to the beach every five or six minutes like they’re covering a hurricane.

     T-- is picking me up in an hour. I am packed, but not ready. I’m eating, but I’m full. I’m tired, but restless, telling myself that everything will be fine, fine, fine.

     The beach, from what I can see behind the reporters standing on it, is unbelievably crowded. There must be a person for every grain of sand, each of them trying to catch a glimpse of the shark. Have people forgotten about aquariums?


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