Image: Max Nitrofoska
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I go out when the traffic dies down. Less noise, fewer faces. The cold settles me a bit, but as soon as I cross the first traffic light, my face fragments. A man coughs and his cough sticks to me. I use it two steps later. It doesn’t fit.
I try to follow a couple. I copy the distance between them, the swinging of their arms, the way they turn their heads. They split up. I keep the gesture. They look at me as if I had said something.
I stop at a shop window and try to fix my face. I hold it while people pass by. The smile fades, I’m late again.
I cross paths with a group of teenagers, they shout a few things at me. I answer a question they didn’t ask. They laugh.
I retreat down a narrow street. I need walls close by, short reflections. I press my face against a glass pane and arrange the layers.
I don’t go out to mix with anyone. I am only trying to detect errors. Today I detected one.
© Max Nitrofoska
