And so I composed a piece for you just now. My ears hurt. I got an hour of sleep last night. The amber light in the globe of reeds is on in the salmon room. The painting of the woman pointing her butt at me and the photorealistic dining room table with apples. Those pillows with the wispy white rows of faux fur. The paper lanterns and the canvas curtains could almost hear me, except that I played and recorded the piece wearing ear phones. The volume too loud. I swear I will be deaf. Remember this day. I name my pieces based on the day, time, size, type, and rate, like 44,000 baud, or something like that. There were a number of them coming out of the catharsis you imbued me with. It’s like wearing a fashionable coat even though it probably isn’t cold outside.