When I was little, my mother told me that inside everyone, at the absolute center of us, there is a tiny golden kernel, our essence distilled down to something pure, elemental, something very close to a soul.  She told me that radiating from this small kernel are thousands of vaporous strings, impossibly thin, like the rippling pink licks that float inside a plasma globe.  And those strings hold us all intact like a magic anchor, tied with miniscule square knots to our organs, our bones, our skin, which pull our bodies back toward that absolute center, toward that precious kernel, like our own unique gravity.

A self-interview is dangerous.  We might find ourselves sitting here for an hour talking about overdone Tater Tots.  Or the pleasures of drinking a Coca-Cola that you have poured from the can into a tall glass filled with ice.

We? I’m fine with whatever you want to talk about.  I don’t think there always has to be middle ground.  But, that is the best way to drink a Coca-Cola.