I read my name on a bathroom stall. It said I suck duck. I immediately envied the author’s ability to write legibly and capture me. I do suck. I wish I could express as much in the breadth of a headstone, the width of yearbook wishes, or the scale of candy hearts. I could be succinct, I think, but I always go too far. I sat on the commode trying to rub out the name Abram, when I could have just changed it to Abraham. Story of my life.