There is a plane. A white plane, of marble or quartz, or some other pale whiteness not to be identified through the soles of shoes. It is perfectly flat, or at least fades behind a thick, white mist before any curvature can be seen.

In the plane, standing infinitely tall and infinitely wide, and infinitely deep, there is a wall. The wall compliments the ground with its black surface, and its grandeur paralyses any standing before it.

On the black wall, there is attached a ladder, leading to a square hole of twenty five hundred square centimetres in area three metres above the ground.

In the hole, some metre deep into the wall, there is a rectangular pit, two metres deep. At the bottom of the pit there is a car, perfectly confined by the rectangular base,

with each wall touching the vehicle’s sides.

The car is a convertible with an open roof, allowing a jump into the car from the end of the hole.

Sitting inside the car one cannot move given the confinements of the space.

A car in a wall, with nowhere to go.

8.XI.21