My pillow is old. I haven’t bought a new one since my head settled on this shape, nor have I asked in that time the wind to change how it leans against the light post. It often feels like I’m being followed by objects. Trees are slick at this. To shake them I have to climb above the tree line or go to the desert. Trees are about to stop being green, my parents are about to stop being alive: that was unexpected. Before sleep last night, I thought, I’ll never put my head on this pillow as a giant. Not Andre the Giant or the Jolly Green Giant. That thought made me consider the ambitions of my pillow. If a giant came along and my pillow wanted to go with him, I decided to support my pillow in this decision, even though a giant’s head is more than it could handle. This made me think it might be comforting to have a pillow with me at all times about the size of my ear. When, for instance, my father is having a stent put in right now, as my mother has had stents put in in other right nows, a small pillow would lend the right kind of support to my ears, which are kind of out there on their own. My parents, who were giants until I was eight, are more like withered fruit these days, I’ll soon come into their house and see their pillows waiting on their bed for them like good dogs who never bark. This is a story almost everyone comes to tell, then that story is told about the everyone who told it, then the everyone is replaced by a new everyone, you see how many pillows will be needed by the time this is done. Invest in pillows is what I’m telling you. And holes in the ground.