I’m standing in the carousel. It is the kind of carousel that spins so fast it pins people to the wall. There is a woman and a man and a man inside of it too and everybody I’ve ever known is looking down at us and laughing. If anyone ever wanted to touch anyone else, it is too late. The floor has dropped. This is what it must feel like to die alone, being held down so completely by my own shadow, my arms reaching out for the woman and the man and the man across the curvature, and everybody else laughing from above. I can not fall out of love with my own shadow, and I can not leave it. Perhaps I am on a train. Or I am a spider or a star. Or if you open the only door in the carousel, it won’t be the wrong one I entered.