Furniture back. Extra chairs stacked like they were never offices. Heater click. Coil still marker. We play. It is good. It is a room. Susan brings Nancy as far as the yard because of the step. Nancy hates miracles and lives. That is the love story the year does not get to spend. We play. It is good. It is a room. Jono passes in the street and does not come in. Pete’s bench is empty. The towel is in the drawer. Ink in the recycling. Thursday will open. We play. It is good. It is a room. I walk the lid in my head. It holds. She never moved. People did. We play. It is good. It is a room. “From the top,” I say, and for a few bars there is nobody in the doorway, which is how this started, and how I will allow it to stop.
