Entrapment.

It's raining in Milwaukee. The grass is green, the trees are budding and some days Lake Michigan says lets play make believe I'm an ocean and rolling white capped waves slam into the debris littered beach. In the mornings, just as the sun breaks over the horizon, when it's still barely thirty degrees, I'm all alone but not lonely as I clumsily make my way out onto the crumbling concrete jetty. I feel relieved, as if I somehow managed to escape. And though the billionaire managed to steal my dog and lose my collection of lingerie, I've emerged as myself, three hundred and forty miles away from where I used to be.