Curled up in bed. Too many books on the floor, taken from the library up the street. I’m staring at Brené Brown and Dionne Brand’s spines. Somewhere in the background, through the window, plumes of exhaust from the toilet paper factory. Good morning. Red light blinking on the phone. I can’t rely on Džeko. I keep saying this, and I think he has too. Red light blinking. I reach over, one eye open, pick my phone off the stack of books on the bed– err … futonside table, tastefully accented with used tissues. Door to the hall is open. Not sure how I got back here, but I don’t have too bad a headache. Gut doesn’t hurt. Maybe I just went for pizza?
I roll over, wondering where the good doctor might be. A text had come in from Geoff earlier: a cleansing was booked on Upper Jarvis; a house on Lind
