God of the Hovel, the Hole, the House and the Hotel, who creates a room for each of us, a nameplate, not a number, on the door, which we close to keep the noise of others out while binging-watching our own noise; though we may shed tears for the end of a season the well of our deep grief dries; Move us to go next door to our neighbor who knows only tears of aloneness. Amen.