Still a part of me is at least a little curious about what happens after. I sometimes wonder what I am sowing in other people’s heads. What do the people behind these eyes think when they look out and see me? Food mostly. Food and tickles and comfort. But in a year or two they’ll start to grow real memories. A copy of me built out of more than just recognition. Singular stories and images that are strong enough to be turned into words and shared. I pretend not to have any superstitions about immortality, but, deep down, a part of me likes the idea of living on at least for a while in the impressions I make on other people. And perhaps in a photograph on a sideboard.