Parcel *** “Can you breathe?” “Yes.” “Sure?” “Yes, yes. I’m sure.” Ripping duct tape seared the air above my head; scissors snipped. “I’m taking the tape all the way round.” “Good.” “Can you still breathe?” “Yes.” I stifled a cry as my chin knocked into my knees. “Ouch, why are you shoving me?” “I’m checking … Read more