All my teeth fell out last night. A crow with no teeth, as they say, is worth the same as a wooden giraffe. I’ve never met a wooden giraffe before, but I doubt he’d be worth the same as me. Any way, now I have them, the teeth that is, in a pouch strung around my neck by a leather string. I think I’ll burn them in a coal fire tended by a leper who escaped from a colony island across the bay. That’s where we keep them, the lepers that is, which includes anyone with a skin condition even if it isn’t technically leprosy. Can’t be too careful these days. Never know when a communicable disease might make you lose all your teeth or something. The remaining ashes, from the teeth in the leper-tended coal fire, will make a nice core for a pencil with which I may write something, an apologia, or a manuscript, maybe even a declaration. Something important and consequential.