Hiro

The hand grip presses, the door opens. The red radio alarm clock flashes through the cold, empty bathroom as Hiro (61) drags himself to the toilet. Exhausted, the bedraggled, almost homeless white-haired man sits down on his cold latrine and gives in.   Waits, tries to regain strength and breathes heavily. Looks around, sees himself sitting in his mirror. The white neon light from the lamp above the sink flickers with the radio red in Hiro's eyes. He flushes. Stands up and walks over to the glass. Continues to look inside himself. Engrossed. Loses himself until the faucet bubbles loudly and Hiro washes his hands. Stares once more into his reflection and leaves the bathroom. Again, the handle slams down and again Hiro slurps to the bathroom. Again and again, it piddles, flashes, bubbles. Reflects, stares. Hiro finds himself in a loop of the same actions over and over again, yet his trip to the bathroom never ends like the one before.   Hiro's rest room, his environment, perception, himself begin to change. Feelings, impressions, thoughts and visions scream at the old, apparently ailing man. Confuse, frighten, enhance, educate. Let everything become more untrue from frame to frame, until everything explodes from one second to the next.   Hiro is going through a change, his change. Going through past and future without knowing what, where or how he is. Even the simple look in the mirror is not reality at all. Hiro asks the question, which side of your reflection, is your really true reality?