PAUL CHRISTENSEN

We’re all back in solitary confinement now that autumn is played out and winter is beginning to construct the iron canopy over our houses. Even the dogs are moody and indifferent, and pass up other dogs without even a cursory sniff. The shop windows seem tired, as if they had all just emigrated from a town in New Zealand and were featuring drab fashions from the 1940s. Restaurants serve what tastes like week-old food and nearly flat beer from a tap that rarely gets pulled. Ol