Nicholas is distracted.

"She is this cat."

"Ok."

"You know?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"A feline. She's this cat that puts her head under your hand as your sitting next to her. She wants to be petted, she wants to be hugged and held close. You just can't do it enough. But this cat stares at you as your doing it. She stares at you, unaffected, you know? You pull your hand away and she is searching for it again with her head. But she doesn't know why? And again she can't express why she needs it. She can't articulate what it does to her. She doesn't know how it does it, but she feels good with it--maybe. Maybe she does. She's really not sure and that is what can bother you."

"Ok."

"Do you see what I mean?"

"No."

"You do."

"Ok. She wants the closeness and she doesn't know why."

"Right."

"Where do you come in?"

"I don't know. I mean I just keep reaching my hand out, curious, lost and amazed at the moments as if it was a very interesting interacting art piece at the museum. You keep trying to leave, even as the performance is doing the exact same thing for hours--hours, days, years. You keep looking as if you are waiting for it to do something else. You know if you leave you would have missed it, but it keeps doing the same thing over and over. Other people are satisfied with this."

"You're distracted?"

"No."

"Ok."

"Maybe I am. But agitated, confused and yes--distracted. I think I would walk up to that piece in the museum. I think I would eventually walk up and disturb it. I would nudge it. I would knock it on the floor."

"Ok."

"I would break free from it."