It's simply living together, that run-on sentence that never admits to paragraph. Essayed for once, it's a two-time, double-spaced delimitation on solitude, prefixed to suffice as the reason to be. Gaunt letters trudged from mailbox to slot, a wish on the wind for breezes who bear buttress togetherness. Nets work to collate what I's see and you's a plural group, y'all misnomer crew. Ship-wide thin interests compound to home; according to narrators: it's epilogue season, indices append names and places, having every back.