The last thing I hear before drifting off to sleep is the following:
You'll remember to tell me, Clarice, when the lambs finally stop screaming. (pause) Clarice! Your case notes...
We had forwarded past CNN (among others) where the brightly colored serif logo seemed permanently affixed behind news anchors' heads. I finally drift off and my brain skims the totals lightly. There are 20 letters in the name of the movie I hear distantly on television. There are 180 minutes of video on the DVD we last watched. The first population sign I'd ever seen as a child totaled 33,031.
Somewhere, hundreds of miles away at the campus of the company I work for, a computer started a counter from a zero-based index. It's important to exactly nobody until the next day.
Next: The Key is in the Ignition ›