June left the house carrying a box, apparently the small teeth painted on the side actually bite. I walked the dog along a string of words - I made sure I pointed out the punctuation. When I came home I arranged the words into neat rows and then turned numbers into images among the gothic arches of my sacred studio. Outside bats flew with balls and faceless voices spoke before grandiose mirrors. Later I saw the couple next door walk the long road to visit their past; it is of course better having a long path to your future and a short path to your past but all in this street appear to have contracted the same disease. I turned my disease into a flag and fly it at half mast while others skip all ceremony and prefer pretence. June came in much later with an empty bag.