My hands are covered in wet slip from the tiny coil vessel I built, and the coffee-mug-throwing collegue who’s been begging me to set him up with a girlfriend all year pulls me aside.

‘You’ve been so quiet tonight’ he said.
‘Just trying to get my groove back’ I explain with concern.
I wandered away from the studio for months, and I’m not sure I’ll find it.

He motions me to the glaze room. I pause, and then trail behind his shuffle and watch him dig his wallet out from his back right pants pocket. He spins around with a business card between his fingers. We lean over it and stare at the block letters together.
‘This is where I’m living now.’
‘Oh. Santa Cruz hotel in Carrollton…hmm…that’s cool.’

I’m not surprised. He’s told me he’s just been out of jail a short while, and he’s had to live in hotels. He used to teach college, and now he’s a courier without an air conditioner. It’s all part of a secret that I’m more comfortable that he keep.

‘No, it isn’t cool it sucks. I got kicked out of my other place in July.’
‘Really? What did you do?’
‘It’s a long story. What’s the worst thing a person CAN do.’
‘Murder?’
‘No…in the eyes of say…an apartment complex what’s the worst thing?’

How does one back peddle out of having this little conversation?
The conversation that happens when someone wants to ‘take it to the next level’.
A level that makes you question ‘fabric of the universe stuff’ that you don’t know or like enough to visit.

When is wrong?
How long is guilty?

Silence is so much more golden since my….

Interview with a Registered Sex Offender