She Unplugged Her Phone A Couple Of Weeks Ago And Stopped Talking To All Her Friends And Quit Her Job, For A Three-Month Stretch Of No Human Communication.

The power was the first thing to go off.

Thirteen days in, she tapped her pipes, hoping someone heard her mis-spelled morse code. The carpet was already worn down into careful elliptical shapes.

Before she got her first period, the idea was to litter her balcony with bread-crumbs and catch a pigeon with tupperware, to release it into the air with a note and a map to her apartment tied to its ankle.

Once, late at night, she started a campfire out of legs of furniture and tried to make deep-thought smoke-signals with her ex-boyfriend's bath-towel, and burned her balcony off.

If it weren't for the distended stomach and the blank looks in the mirror, it would've been the best time to get along with his new life.