The Cassette Seller by Lorie Broumand It’s strange to think that if I were someone else, I’d want to be someone else — specifically that someone else that I was. I’m the sort of person who wants only my own face, even though that face is unsightly, because it’s my face; and the sort of person who wants to be sitting in a cubicle entering dates into a spreadsheet, because that’s where I am, sitting in my cubicle entering dates, […]