I was soaking at the coffee shop. Both of my parents were still dead. Very sad thing. The blueberry muffin is a strange country. Joyce's Ulysses distorted my hands as if it was carrying tiny copies of itself in paper cuts. Customers filtered in like bad lighting. The floor-to-ceiling windows were tinted to make people believe they were alive in their own caffeine. This woman -- all slouch hat and deranged cigarettes -- destroyed the glass, made it look like a road accident. She was unhurt. All her pink buttons were in place. She struggled to be free of her car and became unconscious. We zoomed in. We took pictures and pretended we were the maintenance crew. When she came to, all she said was: Thanks, that was heavenly. Where's my hat.