Jenny moved her pink shelf into my apartment which replaces the black cubic shelf, the everything shelf that I use to store my outside paraphernalia: shoes, hats, umbrella, keys, coins, perfumes, sanitizers, masks. The pink shelf, made for babies, is pastel, perfectly-sized, with just the right amount of room for my everything. The cubic shelf goes back to the hallway at the building entrance, where my neighbors have unanimously and unspokenly formed a pool to share things we don’t want anymore.

I opened the door and see my old trolley cart outside my neighbor’s door, which I dropped off at the pool two days ago. Was it about to be inducted into a new home? Abandoned once again?

Those things make the rounds sometimes. The cubic shelf last appeared at the pool two months ago, where I found it.

Jenny moved from an apartment on the 47th floor of a high rise with window walls looking out onto the Hudson River, into my place in a cozy brownstone in Queens. This is her third time moving this year.