A small room behind a bay window. A single bed, a table and chair, and a sink. I could manage something larger, with more conveniences, but I could never match the view.

Someone is cooking bacon. I can smell its pinkness, its variegation, its curling. It is a heavy smell, like a wool blanket. I have always found this smell comforting.

Amidst the crackle, Dr. Christine Blasey Ford's testimony. I know it is her because I know her voice, its pitch, her inflections. I can't make out everything she is saying, but it is evident that what she is saying is difficult for her.

The truth is often difficult. Especially when it is demanded of us. Difficult not because of what we don't know, but because of what we do know. Dr. Christine Blasey Ford was sexually assaulted in the mid-1980s by someone who wants to judge us.