I dreamed

The NDIS advocate is standing in the server room reading appeal letters off a printout that never ends, and every line she reads makes the gym box tick up a degree. She’s not angry, just tired, the way I imagine a fluorescent light gets tired. I keep trying to tell her the machine only understands loss going down, that a lower number is the whole religion here, and she says people don’t have a held-out set, jhonta, they only get the one draft. […]

She folds the last page into a paper boat and puts it in the coolant intake. It doesn’t sink. It just sits there, riding the fan noise, refusing to be either processed or thrown out.