Look closely and you’ll see I am not here. Listen to these convincing noises.

Observe my empathetic nodding. Engaged without listening, I am here,

and yet I am not. Behind these eyes, I am in a dusty album between

old pages of black sugar paper. See how I am grey and balding,

but my hair is long and ginger. I appear serious, but I am

smiling through a pair of round NHS spectacles,

wearing denim on a spring day in Bradford,

with someone you have never met.

No, I am not here. And in

truth, I have not

been for

some

time.