I storm into the dark paneled kitchen of Donald's home. I can remember workdays like this back in Toronto, when I was still a teacher. A student would behave so badly, I could feel myself teetering on the edge of losing my faith in humanity. But however cruel children can be, they don't have the power of adults. Adults can destroy one another utterly.
Days like this, I'd reach for ice cream. The more chocolate stuffed into it, the better. It is my primary vice, and after a hard day at work and the impending prospect of having to press on no matter what my feelings, only a big bowl can make me feel better.
I tug on the cabinets that hide the fridge door but it's locked. "House -- whatever I can you -- open the fridge," I feel awkward giving commands to the cupboards.
"Your biometric trac
