Exiled in my skin

At lunch time, it is all about the menu, and speed.

The skyways are inside, but they are outside too. Outside of the lunch spots, outside of our encounters with each other, inside the skyscrapers, inside the survey plat of Downtown. In Minneapolis we have interiorized several layers of inside and outside without effort, without naming them, as the Eskimos name varieties of snow, or the Bedouins name different kinds of sand, sunlight, heat. After six months on the skyways, they have become a kind of second skin to me, a container for my self. And they are also a form of exile.

The first six months: disconnect from stereotypes and cliches about the connections.
The next six months: reconnect something to something, anything to everything.