I bought a loaf of bread. I tore a chunk from it and shoved the chunk into my head. From my head it went down to my belly. But I wanted it to go to my brain. I imagine my brain is of the same consistency as a chunk of bread. I think of my head as a breadbin. Thereagain, maybe my brain is more like a lump of dough. You don’t keep dough in a breadbin. You keep it in a sack. You hang the sack on a hook in your pantry. Whenever you need some dough, you open the sack and take out a handful. Then you close up the sack. So maybe my head is more like a sack on a hook in a pantry. It’s lucky that my pantry is lit by a bright electric bulb, a bare bulb, of illegal wattage, without a shade. And I took the pantry door off its hinges. I left the hinges in place, nailed to the frame, without purpose. But visible, and buffed every day, with a rag.Â
What kind of person uses nails to fix hinges to frames?