Suzy's flat was empty on that Wednesday morning, maybe for one hour. Then I saw her light switch on. She's 85 years-old. The only interactions we've had involve her telling me that if I ever need anything, "just ask." I've always been fascinated by empty phrases like that one. And I'm certain that she wasn't willing to give me anything that I actually wanted.

I had had the line in my head "you don't have to be precise / my world is just a prototype" for a few months already and we hadn't been able to make a chorus that made me feel anything. Somehow throwing this random woman into my blueprint started to make so much sense, and in that world, I imagined all of the things I could request of her without limitation. In the simulation running in my mind, nearly every choice I make leads to my death. It's happened so many times that I often forget where I was the last time I died.

All Suzy does is stare out her window all day, which is why it's an event when she leaves for even an hour or so at a time. From her window, I'm sure she's seen me die hundreds of times. The least she can do is tell me where to find my body. (R. Missing, 2020)