what is an indistinguishable when it’s at home? that is, what do indistinguishables look like when they stand in empty rooms? who could love an indistinguishable? (people do, every day.) what happens to them?
how indistinguishable are indistinguishables? does keeping your hands by your sides really cover for all that could go wrong? what does it take to be an indistinguishable? what kind of thoughts are churning in the indistinguishable mind?
can indistinguishables cry? what does it look like? what kinds of places do indistinguishables go to to cry?
what sorts of feelings do indistinguishables have? what about people who were taught that being an indistinguishable was the first thing they should want—but are incorrigibly distinguishable?
what do indistinguishables eat for dinner? what do they put in their napkin? what happens to indistinguishables who pretend they can cook?
do indistinguishables have rumbly stomachs, or do they try to create a clatter to distract the people around them?
David Foster Wallace used to carry around a tennis racket to explain why he carried around a towel, which he actually used to wipe sweat off himself when he was scared. it’s a good story, but there is no indistinguishable pride parade. all the pride of indistinguishablility is like holding a taste in your mouth in a place where you’re not supposed to be eating.
in Sparta, a boy died holding a fox under his shirt while it chewed up his stomach. this has lasted for millennia as a story of something to be proud of, and why this is the case is something that people in power should be asking themselves, but asking themselves questions is something most people in power are too busy to do.