You’ve had this itching all day, like it’s time to move. You want to get to a higher place, you want to move up in the world. You want them to see you for who you really are. You want a flat on the thirtieth floor. One where you can see the city, open the windows, and let birds fly through. A place made of glass. You want it to stop itching. Maybe if you find such a place, they will know you for who you really are. Apply some salve. Start wearing more pungent cologne. Make them see you.