Nothing changed for me until somebody told me that writing was a form of magic, a means of channeling unknown energies and wisdom, a way of changing the present and the future through action. The action of putting one word in front of another until there’s enough words to complete whatever thought it is that we’re trying to express. The fluorescent lights of Desperation Burger sizzled with sterility. The formica table tops gleamed like placid islands of temporary sentience and the plastic plants were a shade of green too deep to be real, and anyway were too tropical-looking to have grown locally in this neighbourhood that’s been carved out of a rainforest, while the yellow sign that reads ‘Caution: Wet Floor’ was an obstacle that I would leave in the aisles between the gleaming tables whether it was needed or not. | image by @stefanie_moshammer