To the woman who left her signal-strength map in the copy shop on Courtenay Place: I have your concentric circles. I have your Prussian blue radiating outward from a point marked H (for hub? for home? for here?). The paper is translucent. When I hold it to the window your infrastructure overlaps with my kitchen and I can almost get reception in the part of my life where nothing connects. Please collect before Friday. I am beginning to mistake your plans for mine.