So I finally sat in my apartment yesterday and waited for the postal carrier (ugly gender-neutral language! And yes she was a woman and she wasn’t even in uniform, and what’s up with that?) so that I could get into my mailbox, because somehow I lost my mailbox key some weeks ago and while I also am horrified of opening mail, there comes a time when you think there might be checks in the mailbox. Well there were! Some checks! As well as a letter named “City of New York v. Choire Sicha,” which is basically an accurate summary of my entire life, though this just contained a neato “total information awareness” picture of my car under a red light. SO I WAS IN A HURRY. $50 of hurry, apparently. Also there were the three most recent copies of the New Yorker, which is weird because my subscription lapsed and I didn’t renew it, because I was starting to feel a little choked by my relationship with the magazine. But I tucked the three New Yorkers and the ticket and the checks in my backpack (and didn’t open this one envelope from the IRS at all) and then I thought, hey, what is in this week’s New Yorker that wasn’t online?
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