I think I’m maybe becoming a ghost in my own life, or something like that. It’s 2 AM and I’m sitting in the studio—the 'Collective,' they call it—and everyone left hours ago after the rally planning meeting. My neck is stiff from hunching over the tablet, but mostly I’m just staring at the posters we printed. Red and black, very bold, very *proletariat*. I helped design them. I did the typography for free because that’s what we do here. But the whole time they were talking about rent strikes and how profit is inherently theft, I just... I kept thinking about my tax return. I kept thinking about how much I need the market to actually function so I can buy health insurance next year.