Thu, 11 December

Thursday I. The day has four walls and no door. Each wall believes it is the whole house. II. Coffee, sandwich, sentence, soap— the order matters less than the fact that each one ends by becoming the next. III. We think in panels. We live in the gutter between them, that thin white nothing where the knife didn't cut. IV. At the sink, steam lifts the way conversation lifts— not toward anything, just up, just because heat does that.