On Sunday, February 20th, we did not receive our New York Times. This was disconcerting, not only because C was denied her crossword, and had to phone some useless hotline and double-check our subscription, but because I would have nothing to do while I ate my cereal in the morning, all the following week, nothing to do but sit there and ruminate on doom-filled things (what I would do if I had a flamethrower, death-ray vision, the power to make people explode, etc). Obviously, this is not good for me. The following Sunday, February 27th, we (again!) did not receive our New York Times. This time it was not nearly the same kind of mystery. I heard footsteps on the front porch around 5:30 a.m. I thought, O good, our New York Times . Then I heard more footsteps on our front porch around 6:15 a.m. and I thought, O, maybe that was our neighbour I heard before (it's hard to tell sometimes -- we have the same creaking wood muffled under snow). But when I went to get our New York Times at
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