Half Hour Adventures Of The Disappearing Boy

Here’s what I’ve learned about doing time: you can’t do years. Well, in retrospect you can, easily — that is, after you’ve done ‘em. They’re a snap. Looking back they don’t seem a huge deal. Two years here, four years there — after they’re over they seem a lark, a blip, a hiccup, a mere trifle weighed against the infinite span of a lifetime. Stand at the front end of eight years, though, and try to come to terms with the boundless ocean of time stretching before you. The effectively infinite span between now and freedom, and the attendant ineffable despair? That’ll grind the teeth right off your sprockets.