When you walk up to an empty office building with glass doors, and it is dark inside. The sun is falling straight down, diving like a king-fisher. You get closer to the doors and peer in, trying to look as though you’re not peering in. You can tell that the lighting in there is bad. It’s like a cave. It’s like where the rock comes out and the sun is behind it and that’s where the crickets like to hide. That’s where you stop for a rest but you sit facing the shadows because you don’t know what’s in there. You peer in and you can see shapes walking around inside, all of them just looking out at you. You glance away for a moment, then you glance back. They’ve disappeared. They’re like ghosts. You walk up to the glass doors, and you see yourself walking towards you, out of the deepness of the building. You are in there, and you are out here. You walk towards each other, matching stride for stride. You watch each other as you get closer, sizing each other up. You try to change the length and pattern of your stride, try to break it up so he gets there before you do but he’s thinking the same thing. You wonder if he’s screwing with you or just an innocent mistake or if he’s going to pull something funny or what. You get closer to the doors and reach for the handle to pull it open, taking a deep breath as if you are about to dive under water. He reaches for the bar on the inside to push hard, letting out his breath as if he is kicking up from the bottom of a lake and is about to break the surface. You both open the door.

The one who disappears is the real you.