I am standing in my home. At night I forget how to be aluminum and now I am carbon, out on a street, walking, as if I had nothing to do. Sometimes I forget what I am. Sometimes I forget what I am doing. The street is what I must be; you cannot separate yourself from where you are. That tree over there, he is just a sort of angry man with many fingers, many toes. He keeps babies hugged inside his hollowed bowels. And that corn stalk over there. That is just a weeping woman, her extremities are drooping and yellow. I have looked at her so long I think she must be a part of me. I walk through, scaring the crows. I talk to the street about my day. She is busy attending her Street Spirits. Half-people. Sometimes I don?t remember but I think that I am one of them. Other times I wonder what I?m doing here. I walk through scaring crows. Sometimes I forget how to be A metal. strange. The Street Spirits are carbon, the street, the crows, everything at night, that I would never remember what it feels like to be easily twisted, aluminum. If, in the morning I go back to my home the street will not be there, in my life. Sometimes I forget who I am. Sometimes I forget this is my life; I am never, never coming home.