Anna insisted she never told a joke in her life. Fell
 asleep when her heart went off too fast. How often she
 was snow. How fanned her feathers. Anna swam
 through strange channels, came through infrequently the
 frequencies and static. Shotgunned her face together,
 slipped through a rolodex of could-be-Anna lives. Head
 always tilted off to the left, one eye wild in its socket.
 Anna crippled into horror movies, indented the left side 

of the bed.