stripes and polka dots
The Ministry has fallen. The Minister of Magic is dead. They are coming.
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
I’m slowly realizing that there are going to be loads of people in my house in a couple of days, and they’re all coming to see me.
Like what.
That’s not normal.
I don’t want them here.
