Envy is a hard pill to swallow. Even a glass of summer rain does not help, although I try hard
to shower my conscience with its patter. There is always that distinct possibility that, by birth,
I am simply a bad person—if we follow the scriptures, of course, and overlook the simplistic
depiction. But I would rather reach for an umbrella and Wellington boots to survive one more
life outside your windows. After all, envy brought me here, so it cannot be that bad.
hidden pilcrow 