In the race to dislocate thumbs I broke the news to you that had been pointing all this time. Towards what was not clear. For so long you’d known if up was up, it didn’t seem believable that the whole story was invented, or do I mean inverted. Building on sand is common enough, or so you told me, perhaps that was my first fantasy at stake. Or maybe my decisions remained carelessly uninhabited. Either way, we both needed putting in our places. Weary from stability, wrapped in a travel rug, I did continue to the end, but by then it had turned inside out and showed a handshaking resemblance to the start line.
