Remy was an urban planner, a profession he went into because he had an almost anal need for order and schedules in his everyday life. He liked to map out his world in neat little compartments—in his mind’s eye, he saw his days much as they appeared in his day planner, narrow boxes with where and when penciled in. Every calendar he had was filled up: the large one that covered his desk at work, the one in his email program that synced with the one on his phone, even the old-school, leather-bound planner he still carried around. He took pleasure in writing down his days, not just what he had to do but, in the evenings, what he had done. And he kept the day planners going back years in a box in his closet. He could open any of them and recall in an instant any moment in his past just by readi
