Burnt toast from a toaster that was never plugged in. A pile of wood in the backyard wilting in the summer rain. The back fence is a garden wall and beyond that are the railroad tracks. Some endless amount of mileage between here and wherever those giant boxes of capitalism end up. Lawless. Like a sleeping dog. Turn the lights on with your voice. Set up some kind of timer to keep you off your phone. Get a journal. Make sense of the senseless. Wander. Get lost. Find Jesus. Get lost again. It’ll never end up the way you think.