I was trained to make buildings. I did not stay. Writing came the way weather comes. Art, curating—these were what happened when I stood in a place long enough for it to ask something of me. I repair houses I will not live in. I write about towns after the train has left them. I put questions in a room together and leave before they are answered. People say: you are always between places. I have stopped correcting them. Between is a place. I have lived there longer than anywhere.