we're not going to start on today, the first of July, in the year of 2010. the first of July might be somebody's birthday or it might be the anniversary of a death; the point is, it means too much to too many people. the same would be true of any day and time in the history of us. so, we're going to start nowhere.
composed of "no" and "where", the word seems to be questioning something. but what? existence? place? time? in the end, though, its syllables are always left unanswered.
"no", it insists, it fights, "where" does not exist. and you would be silly to think it did. "this ‘where’", it tells you, "does not exist on any map, so stop looking".
this word is so arrogant, yet lying underneath the humps of its letters is also an inkling of a deep, dark confusion. when you look into that letter O you can see that it isn't even sure of its own existence. and if nowhere, as a word, is not there, is it nowhere?
"where", the man asks after he rolls down the window of his car half-way and leans over the passenger seat to squint at you in the evening sun, "am i?"
you're on your bike and you were just going to go pick up some popsicles; your sister has been whining all day about how there were no more left in the freezer.
the look on his face tells you he's lost, and so incredibly nowhere.
and suddenly you realize the box of melting, grape-flavored popsicles under your arm, along with your bi[ke, and your sweat-stained shirt, and your blue shorts, and you, are all nowhere, along with the man and his car and his questions.
because of this, at this point you can't tell the man where he is. he acts like you know, and like you should tell him, because you're here, aren't you? you're clearly familiar with the area, or with the route to the nearby popsicle shop, at least.
but you're nowhere, too. and you decide to let him figure this out on his own.