Cardigan Museum

I thought when I moved out I had moved everything. A room in a warehouse in Chicago. Something like East Hall but higher up. I went back for something and there were still full bookshelves and old clothes, half-finished drawings, and projects I'd forgotten. An excavation of previous lives. Allyson and Patrick were with me, along for the tour. Somewhere I had it in my head that I had to go work at the retirement home, too. The room felt like New Year's Eve in Colorado. Or at least that a room in a hotel above a restaurant in Denver where we floated on a carpet listening to Sonic Youth, steering a spaceship, until the construction sounds of morning.