Our stuff arrived today, fresh across the Pacific Ocean. About 70 boxes. They got their own cargo container. What in the industry they call a TEU. The 70 boxes probably filled about a tenth of the container.

Our cargo, carefully wrapped by a staff of international moving specialists, included a glove with no mate, several $3 Brooklyn bodega umbrellas, a broken bicycle helmet and a can of foot powder.

There was also a box labeled: “Head. VHS tapes. Books.”

Inside there was, indeed, a head. The one made by the Texas Kid. The one made of an old piece of driftwood that looks like a head, if the head had been exposed to too much radiation, and which bears the original dentures of the artist. The one given to us by an old co-worker of Dr. No. The story began, “Don’t ever go to an auction drunk.”

I love the total lack of judgment. It’s literal. It’s descriptive. It’s a friggin’ head.