He felt he was in the bell jar, too. Separated from the world by the thin surface of a screen. The world flashed onto the screen all day, one image after another, and he was trapped in front of it, witness. A white woman is screaming at a black woman in a seven eleven. A black man is dying under a white cop’s knee. Images of the past are everywhere, statues from an old war that people were tearing down, and there was a lot of noise about what was history and what was not. Every day there was a new trend to follow but it led to nothing more than a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach and another night in which he slept restlessly and dreamed about finding his socks. He could never find his socks. Packing for a trip, dashing frantically here and there, because somebody was about to leave on a journey – he was about to leave on a journey – and he could not even find his suitcase, and he was not sure where he had parked his car. Was it here, or here, or here? And finally he would wake up and remember it was his life, he was in bed in his room, his car was parked outside in the correct space, and another day had begun. Already the computer was scrolling with all the horrible things that had happened in the world since the last time he sat in front of the screen. Easing himself into the seat. Letting the whole mass of it rise over him again.