I walked with June up the crumpled hill. A partially crumpled man rushed out of the go-slow entrance with his voice in a paper bag - I wondered what would have happened if it had rained. I was too cold to stand like an empty diary in the garden and retreated to my iron mask study where I used letters like numbers and numbers like letters for much of the day. When June returned from the prison camp beach resort I invented a slanting floor that no one could stand upright on and then wrote a homily on the forty five degree angle - unfortunately the congregation of little vampire mice disappeared in the feline sun. I then walked out the door at precisely forty six and a half degrees. We ate our Wednesday dinner from our Thursday plates and came back to the perpetually Friday house.