1

Sophie Calle exits her studio. Sophie Calle enters short hallway. Sophie Calle opens her neighbor’s door. Sophie Calle opens her neighbor’s pantry. Sophie Calle eats her neighbor’s oatmeal. Sophie Calle drinks her neighbor’s coffee. Sophie Calle does not clean her bowl or mug. Sophie Calle documents each unfamiliar tenant who passes through the apartment. Sophie Calle notes in her head the stains on the furniture and grime in the woodgrain of the walls. Sophie Calle asks someone about rent and does not receive an answer. Sophie Calle cuts her nail on the sharpened grease of the stovetop. Sophie Calle spills coffee on her lap and doesn’t pat it dry.

2

Sophie Calle looks through the entryway, into the hallway and feels her eyes jumping from the elevator to the door to the elevator to the door from the door to the elevator to the wall to the door to the wall to the elevator to the door to the counter to the door to the wall to the door to the counter to the elevator to the door to the hallway to the door to the hallway to the counter to the wall to the elevator to the counter to the wall to the counter to the door to the wall to the hallway to the counter to the door to the wall to the elevator to the door to the counter to the hallway to the counter to the hallway to the door to the counter to the wall to the door to the wall to the counter to the door to the wall to the floor to the door to the wall to the hallway to the counter to the hallway to neighbor to the counter to the door to the wall to the counter to the wall to the neighbor to the floor to hallway to the wall to the neighbor to the door to the wall to the door to the neighbor to the wall to the counter to the floor to the counter to the elevator to the counter to the neighbor to the wall to the hallway to the door to the counter to the neighbor to the counter to the neighbor to the elevator to the wall to the floor to the elevator to the neighbor.

3

She documents her movement / the gathering of historicized evidence / earlier iterations of this document / she says that fiction is a growth of sorts / she rearranges her notes and maps new routes / the formula changes / this is not a false reality per se / but it has yet to fully form / the simulacrum hesitates at the base of the apartment building / hallucinations are rendered tactile / every tenant wakes at once / Sophie Calle creates photographic replicas of their studios and the connecting hallways / organizes captions and explanations / describes her praxis / the half-formed thing / this place / is submerged in blackblood / it is revealed as the mutated generative cell that it truly is //

MIKE CORRAO is the author of three books, Man, Oh Man (Orson’s Publishing), Two Novels (Orson’s Publishing) and Gut Text (11:11 Press), one chapbook, Avian Funeral March (Self-Fuck), and many short films. Along with earning multiple Best of the Net nominations, Mike’s work has been featured in publications such as 3:AM, Collagist, Always Crashing, and The Portland Review. He lives in Minneapolis. // @shmikeshmorrao

Banner image by Olivia Cronk