You realize it when the belt you’ve worn for a decade breaks — the buckle torn through the thin, separated layers. You sigh, lament the trip to Target you’ll have to make to buy a new one before asking yourself why you need one anyway. Because men wear belts? Because your eighth-grade history teacher humiliated one of your classmates who didn’t wear one? Because you always have? Have you just been stuck in a pattern— recessive, repetitive — this whole time? Are you just a shipping container carried by someone else’s freight train?