I am lost in a maze running around all hectic and confused. I am also, of course, over above the maze watching myself run around. The maze is in the shape of a fingerprint—a fingerprint I somehow recognize or else assume is my own. The fact that it is my own fingerprint is somehow enough proof for me that there is no possibility of escape—only a sort of laughable meandering that will one day come to a sudden stop without any coherent sense of completion.

And anyway, from my vantage point up above, there is nothing outside of the fingerprint and, thus, nowhere to escape to.