By David O’Connell
The Rational Animal There may have been a logic, but it looked flustered, then frantic, as if embarrassed to be caught flying past midnight in my kitchen. I don’t know how it felt but tell you I felt some seismic pulse generations deep within me raise its tsunami of adrenaline and fury, my badminton racket flailing at (maybe) rabies zagging till the open window swallowed it whole, and I shut it out, and turned my back, only, all night, to hear it flit about me in the dark.
Mason Street 