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.