First, you must find the lost address and knock on the half-remembered door. Without quite knowing, you recall that you have labored here before.
Perhaps you thought it was forbidden or that the substance tendered here might threaten the authorities who could put you away for years.
Because the walls are never square, because your fellow workers’ faces change each time you notice them, or change with time the time erases,
because they work in secrecy like creatures who come out at night, because when they inspect your work they find the work is never right,
and never neat, you know this job. It’s the only job you’ve ever done, whether you worked in front of a screen or with head bowed under the sun.