Oddly, I feel trapped, in the cool air of a late summer morning,
so I read--

Someone's writing about her father's death, succinct and totally anticlimactic,
Someone's travelogue about Turkey, the stunningly beautiful remains of an epic past (in a pretentious tone way too much for me to like),
Someone's almost suicidal internal monologue,
Someone's short story, with a title word I have yet to look up,
Someone's column that failed to sustain my attention after the funny opening paragraph,
Someone's autobiography, which is so long I doubt I would ever finish,
Someone's witty haikus based on politicians' words,
...