A certain sort of violin always made Moti Merton a certain sort of anxious. A flamingo and a yo-yo. Across the table someone said, Does this sound like a swan? How many days have you gone without speaking out loud to another? Each emotion a tangle. Mostly that’s hard to remember. Mostly Moti Merton was trying to be a scientist. And sometimes the absence of buildings. Moti Merton once knew a formula, and once that formula mostly worked. The tambourine and the drums. The tambourine and the face. The chemical history of a candle catches your face like it’s supposed to. Sometimes. Like water on a whale. Like action recognition. Light waves dividing when they encounter obstacles.