A field, all blue. Slowly figures emerge: people, made of crumpled white paper. Once in a while the field moves under your feet, placing you closer to or away from these people. You speak to one of them.
Who decides who you are?
- I do.
- Others tell me and I trust them.
- Who are you?
- I can’t trust you.
- I don’t trust you.
- I don’t trust anyone.
- I don’t trust myself.
Stepping closer to them.
- Smells like coffee.
- Smells like washed linen.
- Smells like soap.
- Smells like sand.
- Smells like charcoal.
- Smells like dust.
Tell me about yourself.
- Where’s your husband?
- Did you shower lately?
- Did you get the email I sent?
- Where did you find that dress?
- Who’s taking care of the kids?
- Why didn’t you come see me sooner?
Imagining movement, imagining time.
- Touching a person causes them to disappear into smoke.
Quiet As Day 