The capitol is wrapped up in a parka, smokes a cigarette a minute and only smiles when asked. But I ask. At night it’s a whale bone white, gleaming adventure. People are open books beyond the first chapters.

When I charge the glades adjacent to the towns, I’m the blue Opel rental car in the bottom of the aquarium. Moving parallel to a perimter, less important than the ocean, hooved animals and gods.

We are allowed to behave like no one is watching, forgetting the way things were amidst the way they will be.

Ghosts. Allergies. Miserable cheeseburgers. Retirement at age 40. Jim Reeves is on the radio and I think of my grandfather.