𝒢𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓉𝒽 𝑜𝓃 𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒'𝓈 𝒽𝓎𝓂𝓃, 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒶𝓈 𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹, 𝒶 𝓈𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓂. 𝒜𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝑔𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒹𝓇𝓎, 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓃𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒹𝑒𝓂𝒾𝓈𝑒. 𝒪𝒽, 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝑒𝒻, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑔𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉, 𝓎𝑜𝓊...

I once saw a man fold an omelet that wasn't an egg, from a block of cheese that wasn't quiche or folded,in a blanket of dust curling like lazy ghosts on a stove, that wasn't a stove but a...