I have nothing for you. I have an excess of it, in fact, so much that I’m sinking into it. I tried to gift wrap it for you, but the void ate it. Tried to put a bow on it, void ate that too. So now I’m just bringing it with me, though things might get messy. I can’t contain it all, see, and so it’s overflowing from me. I’m at max saturation and spilling this ethereal ichor across the sidewalks and streets, it’s pouring into yards and swallowing small yappy dogs and snot-nosed children. Slowly making my way towards you with this nothing yawning from my eyes, hands loose at my sides and it’s dripping from my fingertips, soaking into the asphalt under the soles of my shoes. I hope you have room, because I have nothing for you.