You’re scrolling through the blue and grey chat bubbles in your iPhone notes app at 4:55 a.m.,

Groggy but fixated. Somewhere in there is the text that just fell into the void - maybe it was about Ivy Wolk’s latest betrayal, or a fragment of poetry for the Dimes Square caravan. Whatever it was, it’s gone now, crushed under the weight of 79 better distractions. You’ll never know if Peter Vack would’ve approved.