June got up before I had finished building Stonehenge on the Salisbury Plain of my imagination. I had to sign my name on a stone before throwing it in a glass house and then washed in a chemist’s phial. I met June as a coccyx in the vertebrae kitchen, watching two small ghosts on the point of becoming living beings again. We touched voices as we couldn’t touch hands. I then had a hurried breakfast of ball bearings hitting a cast iron floor (I had a magnet for a spoon). June wanted to go out even though the giant face outside was still spitting in the street and we walked out the gasping for breath door together. We parted some time later and I came home along the hair comb road to my bald head study where I crossed I’s and dotted T’s for the remainder of the afternoon.