Guest
It’s Day 112 of my self-imposed captivity in Kenny’s attic. I’ve started to become delirious, and I’ve lost at least 20 pounds. I haven’t found much to eat, so I’ve been subsisting mostly on wood shavings and insulation that I’ve been gathering from the inner walls of the space. One night, I got so hungry that I risked climbing down the ladder into the studio, hoping to find some kind of forgotten Postmates delivery, maybe a pizza crust. Unfortunately, when I reached the floor, I immediately cried out in anguish. I had stepped on a nail. I don’t know how it got there, but dislodging it from my foot was the most painful experience of my adult life. I had to think fast, because I was bleeding profusely and I was rapidly losing consciousness. I removed my beloved DOTS t-shirt and wrapped it around my wound, tightening it just in time. I hobbled my way back up the ladder and threw myself back down on my makeshift bed. And in that moment I wondered, was that a trap? Had Kenny intended for me, like a mouse in the n
