Work “I stood at my window staring at an arcing streetlight. A sudden wind made me pull my shoulders to my ears. I pissed into the dark. It smelled like canned tuna. My swollen lip throbbed. I could still taste the blood. My eyes rolled back looking for memories. I stopped. I was changing details in my mind, remembering only what I wanted it to be, not what it was. I had only a short time to do what had to be done, after that it would all be forever absorbed by my imaginary Jack.”