For some time we lived in an abandoned house that, for reasons we never learned, was well stocked with canned goods and other non perishable food. Twice a day we rationed ourself one can and wrapped no more than ten crackers or cookies in a bandana (part of the essential equipment we agreed any respectable vagabond should carry at all times). We spent the long days hiking through the woods or sitting, talking, singing songs and playing the old guitar that still had five good strings on it. One day after peeling the wrapper and revealing the can’s hidden surface I sat mesmerized. The thin paper that distinguished the object from others was gone. It was seemingly unremarkable but in reality the true nature of the object had been imprisoned. Now the surfaced danced with distortions of the the sky, the trees, and me. Now it was alive. Still but moving, static but changing, like a million others but unlike any in existence.
