Fragments race across the screen revealing what is. Is this sensory overload? Information as a drug?  Can I have some more? No way, flashes of static, or black and white underneath this layer of reality like my sight is a blanket. My feet are conduits of poor decision-making. And I laugh with a man whom I will never tell my name. I’m too kind to tell him to go away. Three screens? What do you think? Eyes, ego, id.