I am listening to The Hours by Philip Glass. It’s a bit like channeling Glass, channeling Michael Cunningham, channeling Virginia Woolf.  It’s a bit like Mrs. Dalloway, purchaser of flowers. It’s much about time–Big Ben, renlentless, ticks on.  But it is also about death.  Suicide.  Virginia is drafting a note to Leonard.  She is filling her pockets with stones.  She is walking toward the water.  There is no one to stop her.