My body told me, “You’re sick,” and I said, “Fuck you, body. Fat chance. I’m writing anyway.” So it made me sneeze and snivel and shake and cough and leak rivers and rivers of snot. But I showed it who’s the boss. I said, “I’m the boss,” and I wrote 1.2K words. “How about that, body?” I said. No answer, but I think its next move is fever.