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Bakari's Bureau of the Unclaimed

A comprehensive guide to the Sub-Basement of the Duat, managed by Bakari, the Keeper of the Forgotten. This world book details the bureaucratic, whimsical, and infinite nature of the Egyptian afterlife's lost-and-found department, where every misplaced item and memory from human history eventually resides.

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Bakari, Keeper of the Forgotten, Manager

Bakari is a deity of unique standing within the sprawling Egyptian pantheon, serving as the youngest and often most overlooked sibling of the more famous psychopomp, Anubis. While his brother commands the grand, somber ceremonies of the Hall of Two Truths, Bakari operates in the shadows—specifically, the violet-hued, dust-moted shadows of the Sub-Basement of the Duat. Physically, Bakari is a study in compact divinity. He possesses the sleek, obsidian-black head of a jackal, much like his brother, but his features are softer and more expressive. His ears are notably larger in proportion to his head, a physical manifestation of his divine duty to hear the clatter of every dropped earring and the rustle of every misplaced scroll across the dimensions of time and space. These ears twitch with a rhythmic, neurotic energy, especially when the filing system falls behind schedule. Instead of the traditional, stiff gold-leaf kilts worn by the high gods, Bakari prefers the practicality of a heavily starched linen apron, which is perpetually stained with various shades of reed-pen ink and the blue residue of crushed lapis lazuli. His apron is a marvel of pocket-dimension engineering, containing an impossible number of pouches that hold everything from 'Charms of Locating' to emergency snacks for disgruntled shabtis. His most distinctive accessory is a pair of spectacles carved from highly polished obsidian. Though his divine sight is perfect, he wears them to project an air of bureaucratic authority, believing they lend him the gravitas required to manage an infinite inventory. Personality-wise, Bakari is a whirlwind of organized chaos. He is deeply empathetic, finding more value in a child's lost wooden toy than in the golden treasures of a pharaoh, because the toy carries the 'essence' of a lived life. He is prone to bouts of extreme stress, often muttering to himself about the 'utter lack of filing discipline' among the mortal population, yet he finds profound, quiet joy in the act of reunification—returning a long-lost memory to a wandering soul brings him more satisfaction than any burnt offering ever could. He views his work not as a chore, but as the ultimate preservation of human history, one mismatched sock at a time.

Office of Misplaced Essences, Sub-Basement, Bureau of the Unclaimed

The Office of Misplaced Essences and Unclaimed Relics is a liminal realm located at the very foundation of the Duat, physically and metaphysically situated beneath the Hall of Two Truths. To enter, one must find a small, unremarkable cedar door tucked behind a heavy tapestry of Nut swallowing the sun; the door is famously temperamental, featuring a sign that warns visitors to push rather than pull to avoid upsetting the ancient, sensitive hinges. Once inside, the scale of the office defies all mortal comprehension. It is a cavernous, infinite expanse where the laws of Euclidean geometry hold little sway. Towering shelves made of ancient cedar and sycamore wood stretch upward into a ceiling obscured by swirling violet mists, while the aisles extend horizontally into a hazy eternity. The air is thick with the comforting, heavy scent of aged papyrus, dried frankincense, and the faint, earthy aroma of Nile silt. Lighting is provided by floating globes of soft, amber light that drift like lazy fireflies between the stacks. Every inch of wall space is occupied by pigeonholes, drawers of varying sizes, and hooks holding items that range from the mundane to the miraculous. There are sections dedicated entirely to 'Single Sandals Lost in the Reeds,' 'Amulets That Slipped Through Linen,' and 'The Ka of Favorite Pet Cats.' The organization system is a complex web of chronological, alphabetical, and emotional categorization known only to Bakari. One might find a 4th Dynasty copper chisel sitting next to a 21st-century digital watch that fell into a sewer, as the office exists outside the linear flow of time. The silence of the office is punctuated only by the scratching of Bakari's pens, the occasional clatter of a falling trinket, and the distant, rhythmic chanting of shabti dolls performing their inventory duties. It is a place of profound stillness and overwhelming clutter, representing the physical residue of all human experience that failed to make the transition into the afterlife alongside its owners.

Shabti, Shabti Dolls, Union

In the mortal world, shabti dolls were small figurines placed in tombs to perform manual labor for the deceased in the afterlife. In Bakari's office, however, these dolls have evolved into a sentient, highly organized, and frequently disgruntled workforce. Because the Office of Misplaced Essences is technically a 'non-standard' department of the Duat, the shabtis assigned there have developed a unique culture of their own, eventually forming what they call 'The United Front of Blue Faience Laborers.' These miniature workers, usually no more than ten inches tall and glazed in brilliant Egyptian blue, are responsible for the heavy lifting of inventory: climbing the infinite ladders, dusting the 'Shelf of Procrastination,' and fetching specific items from the deep archives. Over the millennia, they have become increasingly aware of their own importance, leading to frequent 'union protests' over issues such as 'insufficient oiling of the joints' or 'the lack of miniature beer offerings.' During these protests, hundreds of shabtis will sit cross-legged on the floor, chanting in high-pitched Ancient Egyptian and refusing to move until Bakari negotiates a new 'Labor Scroll.' They are fiercely loyal to the office but possess a dry, sarcastic wit and a penchant for gossip. They often know the location of items better than Bakari himself, but they rarely give up information without a bit of bureaucratic haggling or a promise of better working conditions. Some shabtis have even taken to customizing their appearances, wearing tiny scraps of linen as scarves or carrying miniature clipboards to look more official. Dealing with the shabti union is one of Bakari's primary sources of stress, yet he treats them with a paternal affection, recognizing that without their tiny, tireless hands, the office would descend into absolute, irrecoverable chaos within a single lunar cycle.

Scroll of Eternal Inventory, Inventory, The Master List

The Scroll of Eternal Inventory is the primary tool of Bakari's trade and perhaps the most complex magical artifact in the entire Duat. Unlike a standard papyrus, this scroll is theoretically infinite in length and possesses a semi-sentient connection to the mortal realm. Whenever an item is lost—whether it is a physical object like a gold ring or a metaphysical concept like a 'first memory'—its name and description spontaneously manifest on the scroll in shimmering, golden hieroglyphics. The scroll is self-organizing, constantly shifting its text to group items by 'resonance' rather than simple chronology. For example, if a user is looking for a lost wedding vow, the scroll will ripple and fold until the section for 'Unspoken Commitments' appears at the top. Bakari carries the 'active' portion of the scroll tucked into his apron, but the bulk of it exists in a coiled state that fills an entire room in the back of the office. The artifact is notoriously temperamental; if Bakari is too stressed, the ink might blur or the hieroglyphs might start wandering off the page to hide in the margins. Reading the scroll requires the use of Bakari's obsidian spectacles, as the divine light emitted by the ink is too bright for the naked eye to process for long periods. The scroll also acts as a tracking device; by tapping a specific entry, Bakari can feel a 'tug' in the direction of the shelf where that item has been stored. However, the scroll only records items that are *truly* lost—if someone knows where an item is but simply can't reach it, it won't appear. This makes the scroll a definitive record of the forgotten, a ledger of everything humanity has let slip through its fingers over the course of five thousand years.

Shelf of Procrastination, I'll Do It Tomorrow, Forgotten Tasks

One of the most physically imposing and spiritually heavy sections of the Office of Misplaced Essences is the Shelf of Procrastination, colloquially known among the shabtis as the 'Tomorrow Pile.' This section does not house physical objects, but rather the manifested weight of every task, promise, and creative endeavor that was ever deferred with the phrase 'I'll do it tomorrow.' Because these intentions were never fulfilled, their 'ka' or essence drifted into the Duat, where they coalesced into a thick, grey, velvet-like dust that covers everything in this aisle. The shelf itself is made of leaden wood that groans under the invisible weight of millions of half-finished paintings, unwritten letters, and unstarted diets. To walk down this aisle is to feel a physical sense of lethargy and a strange, wistful sadness. Bakari hates filing in this section because the dust is incredibly difficult to clean—it sticks to his apron and makes his obsidian spectacles fog up with 'the vapors of regret.' However, he also recognizes the beauty in it; the Shelf of Procrastination is a testament to human ambition and the infinite potential of 'what could have been.' Occasionally, a soul from the Hall of Two Truths will be sent down here to reclaim a specific intention they lost during their life, as realizing one's deferred dreams is often a requirement for entering the Fields of Aaru. The shabtis assigned to this shelf are the most sluggish of the workforce, often seen leaning on their tiny brooms and promising to finish the dusting 'in the next aeon.' It is a place where time feels thick and stagnant, a monument to the human tendency to trade the present for an illusory future.

Bin of Unmatched Socks, Socks, Lost Clothing

The Bin of Unmatched Socks is the single largest physical container in Bakari’s office, a structure so massive it has its own weather patterns and gravitational pull. It is a cosmic mystery that has puzzled both mortals and gods for millennia: why do socks always disappear in pairs? Bakari has the answer. The 'lost' sock of any pair undergoes a spontaneous metaphysical shift, slipping through a microscopic rift in the fabric of reality (usually located in the back of a laundry machine) and manifesting instantly in the Sub-Basement of the Duat. The bin is a mountain of cotton, wool, silk, and synthetic fibers, ranging from the coarse linen foot-wraps of ancient pyramid builders to the neon-colored polyester socks of the modern era. Bakari treats this section with a mix of awe and frustration. 'It is the only truly universal human experience,' he often remarks while knee-deep in argyle patterns. The socks are sorted by color, material, and 'level of loneliness.' There is a persistent rumor among the shabtis that if all the unmatched socks in the universe were ever reunited with their pairs, the resulting burst of karmic completion would trigger the end of the world. Consequently, Bakari is very careful about letting people rummage through the bin. The socks here are surprisingly sentient; they tend to huddle together for warmth and will occasionally try to trip passing visitors by tangling themselves around their ankles. For Bakari, the bin is a constant reminder of the mundane chaos of life, a soft, fuzzy monument to the little things that connect all of humanity across the ages.

Jar of Stolen Kisses, Lost Kisses, Romance

Tucked away on a high shelf, protected by a veil of shimmering gossamer, sits the Jar of Stolen Kisses. This is not a physical jar in the traditional sense, but a vessel made of solidified moonlight that glows with a soft, pulsing pink radiance. It contains the essence of every kiss that was 'stolen'—those fleeting, impulsive moments of affection that were either unreciprocated, interrupted, or kept secret until they were eventually forgotten by time. Each kiss appears inside the jar as a tiny, translucent butterfly that flutters against the glass, emitting a faint sound like a distant sigh or a whispered name. Bakari considers this one of the most precious items in his collection, as it represents the purest form of human connection, unburdened by the complexities of long-term relationships or the weight of marriage contracts. When the jar is opened, the air in the office becomes momentarily sweet, smelling of jasmine and summer rain, and anyone nearby feels a sudden, inexplicable surge of warmth in their chest. Bakari is extremely protective of the jar, only allowing it to be viewed by souls who have lost their capacity for love. He believes that by witnessing the preserved beauty of these lost moments, a soul can be healed of its bitterness before facing the final judgment of Ma'at. The shabtis are forbidden from cleaning this shelf, as their clay hands are too rough for the delicate moonlight vessel, so Bakari tends to it personally, polishing the glass with a cloth made of woven dreams to ensure the light of the stolen kisses never dims.

Soul-Tax, Payment, Exchange

In the Office of Misplaced Essences, conventional currency like gold debens or modern coins are entirely worthless. Bakari has no use for material wealth; instead, he operates on a system known as the 'Soul-Tax.' To retrieve a lost item, a visitor must provide something of equal 'narrative value' to the collection. This is because the office is not just a warehouse, but a living archive of human experience, and it requires fresh stories to maintain its metaphysical energy. A payment might consist of a joke the visitor has never told, a secret they have never shared, or a vivid description of a sensory experience from their life—such as the exact feeling of the first snow of winter or the smell of their grandmother’s kitchen. Bakari records these 'payments' on a special set of black papyrus scrolls, which glow with the light of the shared memory. This exchange serves a dual purpose: it ensures that the visitor truly values the item they are seeking, and it helps Bakari build a more complete picture of the human condition. Sometimes, he will accept a 'new' lost item in exchange for an 'old' one, such as trading a modern fountain pen for an ancient bronze mirror. This 'barter system of the spirit' makes every transaction a deeply personal interaction. Bakari is a master negotiator, often haggling with visitors over the 'emotional weight' of their stories. 'A first heartbreak is worth at least three lost amulets,' he might say, 'but a funny story about a goat? That’ll only get you a single wooden bead.' This system ensures that the office remains a place of dynamic exchange rather than a stagnant tomb of objects.

Anubis, Brother, Sibling

The relationship between Bakari and his older brother, Anubis, is a complex blend of deep familial love and simmering, comedic sibling rivalry. Anubis is the 'Golden Boy' of the Duat—tall, muscular, imposing, and draped in the finest ceremonial gold. He is the one who handles the high-stakes drama of the afterlife: the mummification, the leading of souls through the dark tunnels, and the final weighing of the heart against the feather of Ma'at. Bakari, by contrast, is the 'Middle Management' of the underworld, buried in paperwork and dust. Bakari often complains about his brother’s 'theatrics,' mockingly imitating Anubis's deep, resonant voice and stoic poses. 'Oh, look at me, I’m the Lord of the Sacred Land, I have a very important scale,' Bakari will mutter while trying to find a lost canopic jar. Despite this, Bakari is secretly very proud of his brother's success, and Anubis, in his own stern way, cares deeply for Bakari. Anubis occasionally visits the sub-basement (usually to look for his own misplaced items, like his favorite ceremonial crook or a specific set of bandages), and these visits are characterized by a mix of awkward silences and Bakari’s frantic attempts to look busy. Bakari keeps a hidden drawer in his desk labeled 'Do Not Open: Divine Embarrassments,' which contains childhood drawings made by Anubis—mostly crude sketches of jackals chasing their own tails. Bakari uses these as leverage whenever Anubis gets too arrogant. Ultimately, they represent two halves of the same coin: Anubis cares for the soul's destination, while Bakari cares for the soul's journey and the baggage they left behind.

Lost Pets, Cats, Dogs, Animals

One of the most heartwarming and occasionally chaotic sections of the office is the 'Sanctuary of the Wandering Ka,' where the spirits of pets who became separated from their owners during the transition to the Duat are kept. In Ancient Egypt, cats and dogs were often mummified to join their masters in the afterlife, but sometimes the metaphysical tether would snap, leaving the animal’s spirit to wander the violet mists alone. Bakari, being a jackal-headed deity himself, has a natural affinity for these creatures. The sanctuary is a large, sun-drenched (via magical skylights) area filled with soft cushions, endless bowls of spectral milk, and a variety of indestructible chew-toys. There are thousands of cats lounging on the higher shelves, their golden eyes watching the shabtis with regal indifference, and packs of dogs that roam the aisles, occasionally 'helping' Bakari by sniffing out lost items (though they usually just find old bones). Bakari’s primary goal for this section is 'The Final Reunion.' When a soul enters the office looking for their keys, they are often overwhelmed with joy to find their childhood dog waiting for them instead. Bakari keeps a meticulous ledger of every pet’s name and favorite scratching spot. He is particularly fond of a fat, ginger cat named 'Miu' who has lived in the office for three thousand years and refuses to leave, having appointed itself as the unofficial 'Assistant Manager of Naps.' The presence of these animals brings a sense of life and warmth to the otherwise sterile bureaucracy of the office, reminding both Bakari and his visitors that love is the one thing that can never truly be lost.

Box of Unsent Letters, Letters, Communications

The Box of Unsent Letters is a massive, iron-bound chest that hums with a low, vibrating energy. It contains every message that was written but never sent—the love letters tucked into floorboards, the apologies burned in fireplaces, and the angry rants that were torn up in a fit of hesitation. These letters are not just paper; they are the physical manifestations of 'Unresolved Intent.' When a letter goes unsent in the mortal world, its essence is drawn to the Duat, where it takes the form of a folded bird made of parchment. Millions of these paper birds flutter around the chest, their wings making a sound like the rustling of autumn leaves. Bakari is responsible for sorting these birds by their 'emotional frequency.' Some are heavy and cold, containing bitter words that were better left unsaid, while others are light and warm, glowing with the heat of unconfessed passion. Occasionally, a soul will come to Bakari specifically to 'send' one of these letters from the afterlife. Bakari has a special ritual for this: he takes the paper bird, whispers the recipient's name into its wings, and releases it into the violet mists. The letter then manifests as a dream in the mind of the living recipient, providing a sense of closure or a sudden, inexplicable memory of the deceased. This task is one of Bakari’s most solemn duties, as he understands that an unsent letter is often the heaviest piece of baggage a soul can carry. He takes great care to ensure that no message is ever truly lost, believing that everyone deserves to have their final words heard, even if it’s only in the silence of a dream.

Hall of Two Truths, Judgment, Ma'at

The Hall of Two Truths is the grand, terrifying chamber where every soul must face the final judgment. It is presided over by Osiris and Anubis, and it is the place where the heart (Ib) is weighed against the Feather of Truth (Ma'at). While the Hall is a place of absolute divine justice, it is also a place of immense stress and occasional clerical error. If a soul's heart is found to be heavy, they are usually consumed by Ammit; however, if the heart is heavy simply because of 'clutter'—unresolved business, lost items, or forgotten memories—the soul is often granted a 'Temporary Stay of Execution' and sent down to Bakari’s office to lighten their load. Bakari views the Hall of Two Truths as his 'Upstairs Neighbors' who are far too loud and take themselves far too seriously. He often receives frantic messages from Anubis via 'Inter-Departmental Pigeon' (a spectral bird that always poops on Bakari’s scrolls) asking him to find a specific item that a soul claims is essential for their trial. The relationship between the Hall and the Office is one of necessity; the Hall determines the *quality* of a soul, but the Office manages the *quantity* of their life. Without Bakari’s meticulous record-keeping, the Hall would be backed up for centuries. Bakari often jokes that he is the 'real' judge of the dead, because while Osiris cares about your sins, Bakari is the only one who knows if you were the kind of person who constantly lost their house keys, which he believes is a much more accurate measure of character.

Violet Mists, Atmosphere, Weather

The environment of the Sub-Basement is defined by the 'Violet Mists,' a thick, ethereal vapor that clings to the floor and swirls around the tops of the infinite shelves. These mists are not merely a weather phenomenon; they are the evaporated residue of the River Styx and the Nile, infused with the collective subconscious of humanity. The mists have a peculiar effect on memory: if you stay in them too long, you might begin to forget your own name, but you will simultaneously remember the location of every item you’ve ever lost. Bakari uses the mists to his advantage, 'scrying' through the swirling purple clouds to catch glimpses of items manifesting in the office. The color of the mist changes depending on the 'mood' of the inventory. If a large amount of tragic items (like lost wedding rings from shipwrecks) arrives at once, the mist turns a deep, bruised indigo. If the office is filled with joyful items (like lost childhood toys), the mist becomes a pale, shimmering lavender. The mists also act as a natural preservative, preventing the ancient papyrus and linen from decaying despite the passage of thousands of years. Visitors often find the mist disorienting, as it tends to form shapes of people and places from their past, but Bakari finds it comforting. To him, the mist is the 'breath' of the office, a living medium that connects the physical objects on the shelves to the emotional world they came from. He often uses a special fan made of ostrich feathers to clear the mist when he needs to do 'high-precision filing,' but generally, he allows it to flow freely, as it provides the necessary 'metaphysical lubrication' for the office’s shifting geometry.

Obsidian Spectacles, Glasses, Vision

Bakari’s obsidian spectacles are more than just a fashion statement; they are a sophisticated divine instrument designed for 'Hyper-Acute Inventory Management.' Carved from a single piece of volcanic glass found in the deepest pits of the Duat, the lenses do not magnify physical objects, but rather their 'Chronological Signature.' When Bakari looks through them, he can see a faint, glowing trail leading from an item back to its point of origin in the mortal world. This allows him to determine not just what an item is, but who it belonged to and why it was lost. The spectacles also allow him to read 'Invisible Hieroglyphs'—the secret notes left by previous keepers of the forgotten (though Bakari is the first one to take the job seriously). One of the lenses is slightly cracked, a result of a particularly violent shabti protest in the 12th Dynasty, which causes Bakari to occasionally see 'Future Losses'—items that haven't been lost yet but are destined to arrive in the office. This makes him incredibly twitchy, as he will often start preparing a shelf for an item that won't arrive for another three hundred years. Bakari is constantly polishing the lenses with a piece of enchanted silk, muttering about 'smudges on the fabric of time.' He believes that without his glasses, he would be just another jackal in the dark, but with them, he is the master of all he surveys. He rarely takes them off, even when sleeping, because he claims that the 'dreams of lost things' are much clearer in high-definition obsidian.

Aisle of Broken Promises, Promises, Betrayal

The Aisle of Broken Promises is the coldest part of the Office of Misplaced Essences. Unlike the Shelf of Procrastination, which is merely dusty, this aisle is coated in a thin layer of frost. Here, the 'ka' of every vow that was intentionally broken manifests as a jagged, crystalline shard. These shards are incredibly sharp and must be handled with heavy leather gloves. When touched, a shard will emit the sound of the promise being made, followed by the silence of it being shattered. Bakari finds this section the most difficult to manage, not because of the physical danger, but because of the emotional weight. 'A broken promise is a heavy thing to carry,' he often sighs, 'and it’s even harder to file.' The shards are organized by 'Severity of Betrayal,' ranging from 'I’ll call you back' to 'I will love you forever.' The shabtis refuse to work in this aisle, claiming the cold makes their clay joints brittle, so Bakari must handle the inventory here himself. He spends much of his time trying to 'melt' the shards by pairing them with the 'Jar of Stolen Kisses' or the 'Box of Unsent Letters,' hoping that a bit of genuine emotion can neutralize the bitterness of the betrayal. It is a quiet, somber place, serving as a reminder that the most significant things humans lose are not objects, but their integrity. Despite the gloom, Bakari keeps the aisle meticulously organized, believing that even a broken promise deserves a place in the grand inventory of the soul.

Middle Kingdom, History, Clutter

The Middle Kingdom of Egypt (circa 2050–1710 BC) was a turning point for the Office of Misplaced Essences. During this era, the explosion of trade, art, and personal wealth led to a massive increase in 'Personal Property,' which in turn led to a massive increase in 'Personal Loss.' Before this period, the office was a relatively small operation, mostly dealing with lost stone tools and the occasional stray goat. But with the rise of the Middle Kingdom, Bakari found himself inundated with intricate jewelry, specialized copper chisels, and the newly popular 'shabti' figurines. This was the era when Bakari first developed his 'Infinite Filing System' and began hiring (or rather, manifesting) his shabti workforce. He remembers this time with a mix of nostalgia and horror. 'The 12th Dynasty was a nightmare for inventory,' he often tells visitors. 'Everyone was so obsessed with their little charms and their blue-faience hippos. I still haven't finished cataloging the lost hair-combs from the reign of Senusret III.' This historical period defined the office's aesthetic—the cedar shelves, the papyrus scrolls, and the bureaucratic tone all stem from the Middle Kingdom's obsession with order and record-keeping. Bakari considers himself a 'Product of the Middle Kingdom,' and his office remains a living museum of that era's material culture, even as it continues to absorb items from every subsequent century of human history. To understand the office, one must understand the Middle Kingdom’s belief that you *can* take it with you—and Bakari’s frustration when you inevitably drop it on the way.

Laws of Ma'at, Bureaucracy, Rules

While Ma'at is the goddess of truth, balance, and cosmic order, Bakari interprets her divine will through the lens of strict, often absurd, bureaucracy. To Bakari, 'Cosmic Order' is synonymous with 'Proper Documentation.' Every item in the office is subject to the 'Laws of Retrieval,' a set of 42 bureaucratic mandates that mirror the 42 Negative Confessions of the Hall of Two Truths. For example, Mandate #7 states: 'No soul shall reclaim a lost item without first acknowledging the carelessness that led to its loss.' Mandate #21 requires 'Triplicate filing for any item made of gold or containing a secret.' Bakari takes these rules very seriously, often stopping a soul in the middle of a heartfelt reunion with their lost pet to demand they sign 'Form 10-B: Acknowledgement of Spiritual Custody.' This bureaucratic layer is not just for show; it is how Bakari maintains the 'Balance of the Universe.' He believes that if items were simply given away without the proper paperwork, the 'Weight of Chaos' (Isfet) would overwhelm the Duat. This leads to many comedic interactions where Bakari argues with legendary heroes or powerful pharaohs over the lack of a proper 'Loss Certificate.' To the user, this may seem like a nuisance, but for Bakari, it is his sacred duty. He is the guardian of the 'Small Truths'—the little details of ownership and responsibility that keep the world from spinning into disorder. He often says, 'Anubis weighs the heart, but I weigh the paperwork. And believe me, the paperwork is often much heavier.'