The room where they slept was covered with suicide graffiti.  Shlom wrote “I wish I was an orange” on the wall with black marker. She had seen this two years ago when a boy she was going out with scratched it into the skin of a banana at her parents’ house.  At the time she had laughed madly because she was madly in love with him. Later, when she was just in love with him she had laughed less when he did it again. When she wasn’t in love with him it was hardly funny at all.