We paint ourselves into corners, shady, feverish, asphyxiating corners, where we pace and gasp for breath. A single bulb dangles between us. A crumpled map and a pair of glasses drown in a puddle of light on the table. A chair askew between light and shadows, another tipped over backward where it fell, clatter still lingering, temper's testament. (Source: "Chiaroscuro", 40x41: Midlife Crisis ...