Daily story, July 2, 2025

When, at the age of forty one, I finally encountered quicksand, it seemed a shame not to get caught in it. I checked my phone for battery and signal, moved it up to my shirt pocket, and got stuck in. It was strangely soothing, like something you might do at a trendy spa, but I knew you were supposed to struggle (or rather, weren’t supposed to), because that made it worse. So I kicked and flapped and waved and sank until I was good and endangered, and then I noticed that at some point my phone had slipped out of my pocket.