“This is temporary,” he tells himself.

“As temporary as a classroom at USF, as temporary as my office at the Excelsior school, my desk at the BWC.”

“This place won’t last in my life” he tells himself.

“In a year, you’re out of here,” he tells himself.

As his eyes become sorer. As he’s another night away from quality sleep. As the other dimensions of his life sit there. Untouched.