The air in my home is just a little dense. It rolls through your chest with a heavy consciousness, you can feel it press up against your skin, and pull your eyelashes down to your cheeks. The air in my home is warm and a gentle breeze makes the small hairs on your face brush the dust floating like feathers. It makes the wings and hair and legs and antennas of the pinned insects ever so delicately displayed on the shelf dance demurely.