Nearly lunch time. Another bus passes outside the window, and a green VW Polo parks beside the linden tree. Fewer and fewer leaves are clinging to its tangle of limbs. The cat snores curled by the radiator.
A colleague asks at work yesterday whether there is anything that is not conditioned.
I wait, let him answer for himself. He already knows or he wouldn’t ask.
« Then we’re all fucked, » he says, and walks away.
Truly, and that’s the good news: No-thing is the beauty of how things real-ly are not.
That is: Nothing is here like we think it is; everything is here as it is.