I killed a cockroach and don't know what to do with it, where it's corpse should end up now that the thing can't make decisions for itself. My responsibility. I don't have a strong enough personal constitution to touch it with my hand and there aren't enough paper towels to put between it and my fingers.

I did not kill it with my own person.

It's dead over there where I can practically be close with it, as in it's under a table, as in I can see it if I look, as in it's within walking distance. If I leave it, it's family may come looking for it and then I'll have the angry relatives to deal with.

New York City is getting warmer which makes every day better but faster too. I don't have enough time even when I'm doing nothing. I've learned things, maybe. The cockroach didn't get into an MFA program and now he's dead. Not the end of the world. He probably never did half the things he wanted to. And now he doesn't even know it.