When I was little Grace used to say we were a ship with a broken mast. She said we needed to be careful or we’d sink. And now I think she was right. But there’s something new, I know because I stay up and listen to the world at night. We are on a ship, only we’re not sinking. We’re moving again, cutting fast through the sea with a crucifix mast, plastic bag sails and a hull made of disposable razors and straw.