I left Brooklyn Heights right as puberty was having a strong conversation with me. I left North Hollywood right after I got my driver’s license and was free to explore Southern California. I left boarding school for college right after my mom told me she was going to die. I left my first college before I ever played a second of varsity basketball.

The universe loves to lay bets on a seesaw. Watch for it the next time a bird takes a flying dump on a pedestrian’s head, and you laugh. Yours is coming when you least expect it. Splatter. The clock turns, and we start all over again.

Nothing is quite like the sound of a woodpecker. Peck, peck, peck. Horns honk in unmoving traffic. Jimmy chews his gum in rhythm with the off-center clock in the corner of Math class. The last water on Earth is a kiddie pool.