" But I think of the brain now and it’s not that image I once imagined. I picture apartment buildings—poorly constructed and impossibly built. I picture homes stacked above other homes, people cooking omelets on broken burners, heaters plugged in and oscillating. Most days, the residents of these homes live peacefully with one another—they take showers, sing songs, and watch television—but one day, an oven’s left on, or someone forgets to unplug the iron. Or maybe that’s not it, either—maybe the people have nothing to do with it at all. But still come these chemical explosions, far too small and too complex to see, sending red and sparking embers into the drywall of our minds. “Fire!” we say. “Fire!” But still we stand there and watch it burn. "

― Amy E. Butcher , Visiting Hours: A Memoir of Friendship and Murder