The One You Were Before Yourself

I stood before a hole in reality and thought about my toothbrush.

Because the toothbrush was the last thing connecting me to Daniil Reinov, twenty-eight, physicist, Moscow, Shabolovka. The brush, the photograph, the notebook — three objects that held everything that was left of me.

— Ready? — asked Wei Lin.

— Is there such a thing as “ready”?

— No. There’s “decided.”

— Decided.

— Then go.