for Baudelaire
“More people should rent,” the stranger at the bar says. “Why?” she asks. “What do you mean?” “Because, to own is to die . . . to have something forever is to never let things change.” “What do you mean?” she asks—“Tomorrow morning the bird on the roof will be gone before you get out of the shower. He will fly to another roof and you’ll never see him. You won’t know there ever was a bird on the roof.” “Exactly,” he says. “Except for feathers. There will always be the feathers. Sometimes feathers are everything.”