“We never really touch. I mean we touch – each-other, you know, make contact but…at an atomic level we never do. Not really. If you – if you look close enough at anything there’s always space. Concrete, steel, flesh, bone…there’s space in all of it – holes in all of them. They’re perforated. If you look close enough at anything you could see right through it. When I touch this chair the atoms in my fingers push away from the atoms in the wood and my brain tells me that I’ve felt it…but it’s a not true. I never even come close. A touch, a kiss, a wound; all that is just two things being pushed apart from one another. Your senses saying “close enough” and filling in the rest. We think we ought to feel something – we think we should – so we lie to ourselves and fill in the gaps but there’s always a space. There’s always distance between things. There’s so much more emptiness to us than substance. Held together by what seems like habit more than anything. And things start to drift apart. The center falls out. And then all you’re left with are memories.”