Collages by Joanna Neborsky

Manny hadn’t opened the blinds in a week. There were too many windows in his brownstone, and he feared paparazzi might be hanging around the block. Though, in all honesty, it wasn’t just that: natural light depressed him too. Always had. He came to life only at sunset, when someone—or, most likely, something: a sensor, an algorithm—turned the streetlights on.

Maybe he should move to Iceland, Manny thought. More nighttime there. Iceland for the winter, then the South Pole in summer, whatever city they had near there. This reminded him of something stupid…