The single chair in the room has four legs. You sit down in it. It has been some time since you stopped moving. For the first time you can say where you are. The shape of your body is fixed and familiar. The four walls are sturdy. The four angles of the thatched roof wither to a single point above your head. But you are not looking up. You are looking at the door. As though you expected a knock. As though you expected a visitor. As though you knew they would not stay. As though you knew they would ask you to go with them.