I’m from the Internet. I wake up, or do I even go to sleep? Sometimes I get powered down, but that’s it. In the past, we had cufflinks and tie clips. Now we have USB sticks and Uber. When I extend my hands, everything is where it’s supposed to be. I feel the fire touching me through my window. Nobody I ask can tell me if it’s real. The police yell at me: “You’re just like your mother. You probably have fantasies about China, too.” We’re trying to stay calm. We can’t lose hope. People keep getting out of cars dancing.
Howie Good, 2017