So much feels like provocation.

The slammed door.

The mutter.


When I answer provocation, I am most of the time playing to a crowd I can’t see. They’re watching, I know, arms folded, eyebrows raised: “Are you going to stand for that?”

“Yes” is an option, though it almost never feels like one.

Provocation wants to move you. You still get to choose when and how you move, though.