Working with my cells, I am forced to adapt to them, to be like them, a small, anonymous goldfish inside this lovely glass enclosure. Beautifully decorative. Some restaurants place these sorts of fish on top of every table, inside tiny fishbowls. They’re decorative, for sure. Soothing. They’re very much alive, and yet some people use their homes as ashtrays. The poor little creatures perish, poisoned by the toxic chemicals in cigarette butts. But that’s all they are, right? Ornaments. Frivolous lives.
