Night

The sky has gone into mourning. The moon is sliced exactly in half, the nearest it can come to halfmast. A barcode of vertical creases and shadowlines codes something in the drawn curtains.

The dead are everywhere, he says. The great weight of the multitudinous dead bears down upon us. But this isn’t true, she says. The dead are nowhere, the dead have stopped existing. The living outnumber the dead in the same way that a million is bigger than zero.

Still, there’s almost no limit to the amount of suffering we can allow other people to bear.