It’s a late shift, quiet and a little dreamy. Dreamy? Not in a sweet way, or a pretty way. More like a Hopper painting, things are kind of distant. Pastel tones, gentle faded signage, it’s muted. It’s a late shift, quiet...
I stand at the urinal... my bored eyes, fall onto a crack, just a little black hairline on the pastel blue. The line runs to the ceiling, and down to the gleaming white crest of this urinal. Just at eye height, a small piece of the wall has come loose, and fallen from the line of this crack. I think about how far through the building this crack could exist. This tiny hair-breadth, of movement, the building breaking, before my eyes...
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