I swallow my soup. Then in the midst of what I am reading, I think: “The soup is in me, I have it in this pouch which I will never see, my stomach.” I feel with two fingers and I touch the mass, the motion of the food there inside. And I am this, a bag with food inside of it.

Their eyes meet and her heart starts flopping around weakly, like a bunny in a ziploc bag.