The confusion of one place for another. Or rather a conflation with. I’ll be walking down one street and where I turn I’m at an intersection with friends in —. I’m by — all the time, I even saw the exact corner angle in an Instagram Story just yesterday. Another turn and I’m back in —, zipping through —, arranging flowers for...The last time I dissociated this hard it was out of grave necessity. Maybe it is now, too. The backdrops to these discursions are international, knowingly self-exoticizing—ostentatious even—but as template, a promontory lap, making a dentist mold of memory’s grooves, one of the most modern (modernist) experiences you can have.
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