I had a very early start, following June up the road carrying her empty bag (she carried the contents in her open hands). Combined we made a pattern on the road which I named the “convalescence of a wounded soldier”, before accidentally shooting myself in the foot. I caught a bus like a blind man pulling an ace from a deck of cards and visited the wise man in his recently thatched pyramid. He had a real snail for a hat and we talked in bubbles that rose as gem stones and came down as mice in wheels; spinning out tales and twisting clock hands into a rope strong enough to take both our weights. I went out in the garden to plant Jack and I hope he is tall enough to climb when I return next week. A man on the bus had a black and white film projected onto his shirt; the story was interrupted by his tie.