The dead seek the lowest places in Chicago. We find them in basements, laundry rooms, on floors next to couches, sticking out of parked cars or shrubs next to the sidewalk. It is more than gravity that pulls them down, for in every dead body there is something more willfully downward, the lowest possible place: the head sunken into the chest and turned toward the floor.

Trusted correspondent ptb writes: “a jam.” The Reader noted Martin Preib’s prize-winning essay “The Wagon” in 2005.