I opened my mouth to say something rational—about noise ordinances, about leases, about the fact that I had work in four hours—but what came out was: "Teach me."
I hit it. The sound was clumsy, flat. But somewhere beneath it, the wall between our apartments hummed back. sammm next door tribal
Sometimes, late at night, I put my palm against the shared wall. And I swear I can still feel it—the insistence of water that refuses to forget its own name, running through the pipes, through the wiring, through the thin, thin bones of this city that built itself on ground that was never truly dry. I opened my mouth to say something rational—about
Sammm opened it wearing a frayed blanket over one shoulder and nothing else. He was younger than I'd expected—mid-twenties, maybe—but his eyes had the heavy-lidded patience of someone who'd watched continents split. Behind him, his apartment was empty except for a circle of salt, a clay pot of something smoking, and a single photograph taped to the wall: a black-and-white aerial shot of a river delta, its channels branching like veins. Sometimes, late at night, I put my palm