Not that a sandwich is a place. But the table and stool I sat on were the material support for my lunch that day. My precise position in the front hall of the Archives Départementales du Rhône.
The key opened the locker where I was asked to store all items that are not allowed in. Stripping off is part of the ritual. You are never allowed to bring any food or even water in the archive reading room.
I got in early that morning, travelling early from Paris. It was a sunny day. After a long half day already, I had a sandwich, on my own, like I always do when I visit archives. It’s totally OK to have lunch on my own. In those moments, my brain just shuts down. I am fully concentrated on ingesting the food. Not even thinking about archives at all. My eyes are just staring at the sandwich, just like in the picture.
Maybe the sandwich is a place after all.