I made it here today, though my injuries are grievous—my socks are both white but the shapes of the elastic parts reveal they are from different pairs; one of my eyebrow hairs has fallen out and I might never find it again. I made it here though, to this couch where people like the place where the side of an individual serving yogurt container meets the bottom sit in silence. I sit there until it’s so quiet, if you take a quarter out of your pocket it will have nothing on it but an image of my lost eyebrow hair.
