Camera Zooms In

I picture my guardian angel as a camp guard—a bald man with cloudy, drunken-looking little eyes, in thick cotton-padded trousers that reek of tobacco and disinfection from station toilets. My guardian angel guards me without much enthusiasm. By the nature of his job, according to the instructions... To be honest, there isn’t much fuss with me for this guard. But when I try to escape from the zone called “life,” my guardian angel grabs me by the collar and drags me along the life stage, twisting my arms and giving me kicks. And this is the best he can do...