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Minutes, seconds — how would I share with you the chunk of an hour I spent pressed below the chain-link fence of a construction site, waiting to be found? How I believed those two men would track me down and, later, the beat of their sprint haunted even familiar concrete. Afterwards is a sound that doesn't subside, a pitch that sticks, resonant, to flesh. How the body can shrink and reshape itself via a blemished survival. Stalked breath, all sound a betrayal — to be, audibly, alive was to invite discovery. Do not find me, I begged; and of myself, do not beg.
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