I’m too young and fucked up to be out on my own, but so’s everyone. We’re all crazy, no-clue, wayward juvie punks, latchkey kids getting our ears blasted and our minds exploded. And for a glorious nanosecond, the sorry horde of us gets just what we’re after: oblivion. Alex punched the return key and looked out the window. He’d set up his office in a corner of the solarium when they’d moved in two months ago. Every day after dropping the kids at school, he’d head home, march to his desk, and plop down under an arched window with a panoramic view of the backyard. Framed by clumps of pink rhododendron, the scene was ridiculously pretty. A flagstone path rolled across the lawn to the guest cottage, nestled in a thicket of trees like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. Looking over the scene now, he felt a knot of anxiety coil up in his throat. What was his problem? Was it the work, the house? It couldn’t be the writing. He’d started working on his book the day after they moved in.
