A preface is usually written after the fact. And so is this thing you are about to read.
A performance of the text occurred on April 26, 2014 at the Whitney Museum of American Art and was enacted by five street artists (four Chinese and one Caucasian) who drew sketches of the audience. On my signal, they threw these sketches into the air. A dancer playing a waitress repeatedly dropped napkins beneath a sound track of drones, trains, and rains and me, yours truly, at the podium voicing a version of the text that follows. What does a preface ever really tell us? That something else follows. And the thing, the thing that follows, preceded the thing with which you first started.