eightyeight: the basic definition of what a goldfish remembers of her little everyday as she swims amidst an ocean of humans.

I am walking on the side of the road inside my head. On this dark asphalt, I picture myself sitting in a train. The train approaches a tunnel, and the sights beyond the window blend quickly into a flickering horizontal strip. I am now thinking that it feels like a time machine – What was I like, five years before?

This is how eightyeight by van came to light.