Devin had been married twice and so his shower was short and not as hot as he would have liked it. It didn't matter that this was a hotel and he was now alone. He held onto the confetti of routines because it kept him sane.

His loss of awareness in this strange hotel room might suggest the rare occurrence, the drink-stealing loss of control and yet it was more common to him and his style. It was a practiced mechanism of which overall he was proud. He thrived like a lice in the city just by remembering and forgetting and knowing which should be done.

He had learned to control the city that had murdered his mother.