The Antioch Review, March 22nd, 2003
A man walked into my house without knocking. He began to measure the walls with a measuring tape. He'd make a measurement then make a note of his findings on a legal pad. He hummed "Hotel California" as he worked. He was short and pot-bellied and walked with his feet splayed out like a duck.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
He dropped his tape measure. He turned and looked at me, mouth open, face turning slack and white. He made the sign of the cross and took a step backward. "You're supposed to be dead," he said.
"No one told me," I said.
He sat down heavily on the sofa. "They said you'd ...
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