“My lazy fingers fumbled across the blurry remnants of a reflection that I used to call my own. “Lady” said the man in the black jacket on the corner of 4th street, “are you okay”? Cars and busses were blurs of light in the midnight traffic and I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that question. I could have sworn that I was someplace else, some place that made sense.”
— I think I’m in the wrong side of the reflection {a.h.}










