You are from this place. Running your hand along the steel counter, you are apart. You are not from this place. How could you be?
I am not from this place, you shout, veins bulging. I am gone. No one knows. I am disappearing! See? No trace! I leave nothing behind. Do not remember me.
The pans clatter into the sink. You are flipping the world over. The world is tumbling you through space and you catch a glimpse. Dusty sun filtering through the window. You stand at the metal sink, washing your hands.
photo by Joe Coleman.