We were on the edge of the world, teetering on the head of a pin. Flying to meet in new locales, walking through ghettos, drinking at watering holes. Who were we? Does it even matter? It’s terms that mix us up. This or that. Not this, but that. How does a definition encompass experience outside of the norm? The fountains, the way they’d shoot simultaneously, and North Beach, no neighborhood that fulfilling. Trundling up steep hills, toward the crest of a new park. This is life: erogenous, secretive, misbehaving. Beyond the fullness in every breath.