For no particular reason, I held scissors in my right hand and my left hand held a piece of cutout paper. I do not remember cutting the surface to pull out a fantasy castle. I did not remember sitting on the couch or even how I got into the apartment without my keys still dangling in the car ignition. Perhaps I had cut my way into the apartment. Either way, there was no explaining everything in between, how my sandwich had the crust removed so only its roundness remained, or how people were looking out the window turrets of the paper castle. It did not explain the child-proof scissors with its impossible to cut round edges had somehow made such tiny cuts. There on the tightrope was a twin of ballerinas going in opposite directions waving to me, as if inviting me in. So I stepped into the cutting.

If you look carefully at the picture, there I am, in the center of things.