Every job has its sad rituals performed nightly in quiet desperation. The escort who washes out her panties in the sink. The lonely shopkeeper flipping "We're Open!" to read "We're Closed." The Historical Society volunteer re-fanning all the brochures about the local water mill and antique mall. And each night, I reset all the alarms on my cell phone that remind me what time to dispense anti-psychotics to children each afternoon, to my morning wake-up alarm.