Seven numbers once known by heart, each paired with a line of context. The seventh has no digits — it replaces them with “Yours” and turns to address you directly. The inventory admits it was a letter all along.
The last seven phone numbers I memorized 1. 555-0140. The house I grew up in. Still the same digits, new family. 2. 555-0117. The diner on the corner, which closed in 2003. I called it to ask if they had pie. 3. 555-0188. My first apartment's landlord. I kept it for a year after moving out in case there was a problem with the security deposit. 4. 555-0172. A dentist I went to once. I never replaced the card. 5. 555-0163. A taxi company. The dispatcher recognized me for about eleven months. 6. 555-0109. A woman who was briefly a friend of a friend. She called me twice before I called her. 7. Yours. I never wrote it down because you said not to, and so I said the digits aloud each night for a week, and then I stopped needing to.
Read the seven entries. The seventh has no number.
Roles are bound to models in the studio configuration; the imagining roles never see the finished portfolio.