“Better than a mouse’s,” which is to say, yes. “And I can hear your lungs. Who knows, maybe I could hear your nerves if I really tried.”

The pan goes on the stove. He stops for a moment to wash his hands more thoroughly at the sink, then dips towards the icebox. “I can hear your neighbors, too. Sometimes I can hear the town from the house, when it’s quieter. Nothing distinct. Just sort of a general bustle.”