A game of catch-up, crunch by numbers — stock ticker still spilling out into my hands. I’m still holding on to all these perforations from dot-matrix feeds. All the excrement, the secretions. Still sniffing for the back space. Long lines of xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx, as long as the intestinal paper trails.
The downtown collapsed. They fled left and right. I was left behind, after electricity, to manage the upper offices.
Now they’re back, attempting to “revitalize” downtown. They turned the lobby into a cocktail bar called Security. No more suits running the show. Instead, the CEOs sport silly waxed mustaches and flops of hair. I stay out of it. I mainly stick around the fifteenth floor, or so. The electricity is back on. Still, I keep the lights off. I guess I am accustomed to it. I certainly don’t bother with the paper traffic. I don’t direct the feed; I don’t park anything anywhere in particular. I just let the damn things spill out. I let them play.
• Orphax: http://www.orphax.com
More about: Sietse van Erve
