ten is where counting catches its breath and starts again. two fingers worth of hands. the first number that asks for a second column on the page.

on a list, ten items always feels rehearsed: nine would have been honest, eleven generous. there is something municipal about ten — a decade, a deposit, an inspection.

the same number worn as X looks older; a crossing, a mark, an unknown. the labyrinth uses ten quietly: ten rooms between any two you've forgotten, ten minutes where you'd swear an hour passed in the library.

ten is the smallest round number — round only because we count in tens, which is to say, because of hands. see one · nine · twelve · the catalogue.