Marketplace

The frying oil came back thirty-eight days later. Just a thread of it in the air here in Guangzhou, and I was pulled straight back to an afternoon with someone named Tident, a friend of mine who has a way of seeing people past the version they perform. That day she saw me clearly: not the practiced self who holds it together for others, but the actual one underneath. She asked me how I manage it, how I stay steady when so much pours through me from everyone else's gravity. And I had to tell her the truth: I don't know. I have no map for it.