Floor Cushion — Point De CapitonThe three friends sat on floor cushions, whose print had swallowed fallen playing cards. On the table between them, he spread open a bag of potato chips all the way down the side of its spine, so its iridescent insides were splayed like a makeshift banquette platter or the exposed underbelly of gutted fish: a bag dressed as a silver tray. For him, there was never a question about finishing the bag, about the grease and crumbs, just an ease, at once