In my line of sight from my office, beside stacks of books and magazines, between unplugged lamps and cigar boxes, I can see five different movers’ boxes of that instantly recognizable shade of cardboard, smattered with the cheap brown tape ubiquitous to the act of relocation and nothing else. They bear Sharpie’d notes on the sides which grant little knowledge regarding what they contain: “Records” and “Office” and the like.