My lover is a collection of tools with indeterminate purposes. I love him because I love adaptation, fixing, dismantlment, etc. There is something like a dental pick to him—isn’t that weird? And something else that looks like a cross between a noose & a saw—what could that be used for? I have no idea. I am The Chicago Manual of Style. I know what to do. I sing songs so accurate they can’t shake an eardrum. When two brothers walk the old pier, I know to bow when they slip under the gull bones.