Only rocks remain and scattered remnants of life’s paraphernalia. Buttons on the jukebox at the end of the universe go unpressed other than the occasional rock bumping by. Lacking free will, they cannot steer their craggy selves—cannot resist the tug of passing masses. So, dipping and turning, neverminding their own attractions, each space rock blames collisions on every other floater; and the jukebox mostly unstressed, its buttons rarely pressed, is left to chill experimentally. Hertzless. Searching for alternate frequencies. Low, slow waves radiate from the center with aplomb, but the jukebox cannot avoid rattling itself apart. Residual vibration strung out