Just like time, the where is a fundamental pillar of being. Round and round on the circle line.
What exists here can exist anywhere.
Sitting alfresco in a charity cafe in a not so busy side street of a town which probably never happened. Wide open The Guardian and something that’s much heavier, must be The Times.
There is always something to report yet these eyes don’t seek. They focus inward to wait for the words to spill out. And so they do, while the seats empty, the counter goes dark and the souls inside can only be called through shadows from a window.
There is still time, there would have been, if the destination, without information, wasn’t lost. For some acts simply need a where.