Week 20, 2026: Flying solo

If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter. Whether Mark Twain said it or not, it’s true. Here and now, it's true. It started with some packing. Lena Dunham interviews in the background. A printed transcript of a talk about the free software movement. My mother and I, eating sandwiches in her dark car. My toenails painted a shade called Flying Solo. Free as in speech, not free as in beer. On Tuesday morning, I went for an early walk along the beach. I sat on the shore, rummaging through my playlist for the perfect song, when a shirtless man marched towards me like I was sitting in his spot. Arab, he asked. I mumbled an affirmative. But I’m not in the mood, not in the mood at all, so when he asks where I’m from, I say what I’ve always wanted to say in these scenarios. I’m really not in the mood to talk to you. He surprises me by sitting down next to me and telling me that since I don’t want to talk to him, he doesn’t want to respect my desire for solace. I get up and…