People having panic attacks talk about the sensation of the walls closing in, a feeling with which this critic is not totally unfamiliar, but lately, it’s been more like they’re alive.
If I time everything correctly, I only have to venture out beyond the confines of my clean (well, sanitary) apartment and into the viral wilds of New York once per week to replenish supplies of groceries and red wine.
That means that in the best-case scenario, the body will remain in what an optimist would generously describe as a “cozy” space for one-hundred-and-sixty-ish hours at a time.
Read more on theplaylist.net