trespass

I have nothing to say. But I’m here. It’s like being in an empty banquet hall. Wineglasses line up along this table. White tablecloth. Other round tables and chairs and plates and utensils set up as though all the people were here. I take a seat to catch this perspective of the hall, and I try another seat to catch another perspective. But I mustn’t touch anything, and lay my fingerprints on the knife handle or crumple the napkins. I mustn’t leave clues where I don’t want them left. As I sit back, it does get to feel awfully eerie. The ceiling’s too high and the air’s pressing down on me. I sink lower, and lower, and there, under the table. I’m totally under the table. It’s where everyone’s hiding. How my feet never kicked them even by accident, I don’t know. But they’re all here.

drafted on 070918