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.

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