The terror outside and the terror within like mirrors facing each other in a hallway, through which fragmentary bodies, all mouths and hair and eyes, pass one another with fearful glances. But the sky is pure as the bricks. I pick up books, put them down again, phone holstered in my pocket like I’m the new sheriff of a ghost town called Anxiety—a town in which all the world’s population has been contained, peeping from rooftops and windows and from behind swinging saloon doors. You feel their eyes but they stay out of sight, as robins hunt implacably for worms.