A piece of data-inspired fiction, published in Moving Through Images, a publication by David Gallo that questions how images and (visual) reproductions of physical surroundings influence perception. A prompt book, map, guide for urban movement outside of the lurching from one place to another.

Then something happens, which I have been nervous about sharing with you. The reason for the nervousness is that it sounds like I’ve made it up completely. It sounds like a story one would invent to pass the time, or to fill up the silence.

At a certain point on the walk – I open my eyes. This partially happens because the gates end. But it also happens because I feel a strange sensation in my stomach, like lurching downwards on a roller coaster. The sensation arrives as quickly as it leaves. It is abrupt – and it makes me want to sit down on the fall to just a short break from things. This is when I stop – just for a moment, on a single chair which has been drilled into the sidewalk by the municipality. It has stainless steel armrest, and is around 5 metres from another chair, also drilled into the sidewalk by the municipality.

At the moment I sit down, something happens, which I have no explanation for. I’m sorry, but I simply have no explanation.

There begins a slight ringing – a vintage kind of ringing. It starts faintly, as if it came from the inside of my ear. But over the course of some minutes, the volume increases – the pitch also becomes more and more piercing. At a certain point, I would describe it as a shrieking which intermingles with the squeaking ravens. This becomes unbearable. At this margin of absolute unbearability, the final tipping point, I make the decision to take the call.

Hello? I say

Then the response, the sound, the phrase, is deep and slow. The voice on the other side of the line says one word, and one word alone, always:

Mhm.

To be clear, it sounds like this:

Mmmmhhhmmmmmmmmmmmm

When I hear this, I do feel like things are less severe then I thought. But this feels mixed up with a sensation of unheimlich, unfamiliarity or strangeness of everything. But in general, the lurking feeling of the edge is taken off, like having a cigarette when you don’t know what to do with your hands.

The voice says it once, though I’ve never asked if they can repeat themselves.

After this, the ringing stops, and I continue walking.

I continue walking with the slight feeling of being on the edge of something – like on a bridge that wobbles. I carry onwards towards the train station, which is nestled in a cave like dome surrounded by tall glass buildings. It is always around the time where the scenography of the space changes, because I can no longer hear the sounds of squeaking crows, that I see him.

He is always dressed in blue. He stands just off the axis of the main walking line – like a voyeur of all the bodies passing, of which I am one. His head is slight turned in a way that I can only see the point of his cheek bone and end of his eyebrow. I have never understood why I can’t see the beginning of his eye.

He stands and waits, every day, without question. As I move closer to him, he becomes smaller and smaller – thinner and thinner. When I am around 3 metres a way, his sillouhette is extremely fine. At around this point, he always nods with intentionality –  though never turns to look at me. The closer I get to him, the smaller he becomes, to a point where eventually he disappears entirely. This happens in a way that is not abrupt or sudden. He just slowly becomes not there, dissolving away.

I am fairly certain I have always seen him – though this would be an easy thing to contest. I am also fairly certain he has been there and will be there forever and ever, but I am willing to discuss it.