The mirror on the wall shows a version of me that shouldn’t be here. The figure within the glass that appears bathed in sunshine and bad luck, he rolls a cigarette without saying a word while catching my eye with a strange grin spreading along his dry and soundless lips. Maybe it’s the me of my university days, or perhaps it’s the lovestruck me, the one that hadn’t yet quite grasped the magic that was to be found in all the books he’d been hoarding for so long. Maybe it’s not even a version I’ve yet encountered. If so, what stories has he to tell? What tales of heartbreak have yet to be known if he’s from a time and place ahead of me, and just how many roads await until I stand where he now stands? If I were to step into the mirror and into his shoes, whose arms would I find myself wrapped in? If the layers between here and there were to dissolve like so many misplaced memories of mine, would it be the embrace of joy or the clutches of depression I would find myself surrendering to? Does he know my muse? In his reality, is he with her, or is she even further from his arms than she is from mine? Unsteady on my feet, I lean against the frame of the door, and with one finger on my left nostril, I blow as hard as I can causing a stream of snot to shoot from the other. On the floor by the wall, a big blob of the stuff is looking up at me, and with my bare foot, I rub it into the carpet with my big toe. It’s a dirty act by a dirty man, but who gives a shit. In the bathroom, there’s a magazine containing the bodies of many beautiful women. Picking it up and leafing through the crinkled pages, I turn on the shower, and after a minute or so, the water becomes piping hot. Removing my clothes and getting in, it washes over me and then just like that, another transformation arises and yet one more version of myself is ready to exist beyond the cage of flesh and bone in search of something more.