It is important to state that we cannot stomach it to have the story of our lives fall off—slip off, but who can?

To cheer us both up, I drove us westward from the donut shop—to get to this different district, where we could look down from the car, from the big drooping hill onto a pretty plain—topped by a wide stripe of light—a celestial streak.

It was sad That Nothing Be Lost Thrift was shuttered.

But now I am thinking about the haircutters we ended up in—how the barber had attached himself to himself—coiled his own thin braid of hair around his neck.

I exited with hardly any hair on my head—so trim, so civilized.

• • •

At the inn next morning, our room was fully sunlit, even though the walls could have gobbled a lot of sun, because they were painted jungle green.

Jemima embraced me far too tightly, to the point of pain nearly.

She had had a bad night’s sleep, I knew, and when I asked after her, she replied, “Better, better, better.”

We steered farther out midday, lucky us, into yet another county, and the road led us by lots of untouched ox-eye daisies and wild carrot.

We had just found a café for lunch and Jemima was bringing a spoonful to her lips and wearing that hat. She had only just begun wearing that purple hat that crowns it all, and she seemed to emerge suddenly from nothing—from behind the table—with her features, her pose, and I knew what I was going to do.

It was worth losing my head I decided. We should marry—for there were men who loved their wives, who did not fall in love with other women.

I imagined that. And, while the air smelt of fried fat, butter and sugar, I thought, I am different here.

“This is not what I ordered,” I said.

Our server smiled and said nothing when I told her, but did take away my plate.

“I said whole wheat,” I said.

“I heard,” Jemima said, “Try this.”

I didn’t want her avocado smash. Can one try harder to prefer a food? I can’t, couldn’t.

There was an open window, a fuchsia curtain. I like that color and blue—sky.

I saw that several small gray clouds, of similar shape, were over-organized into two neat rows, three above three.

She—the server reminded me of beautiful Bess, who can enchant at the UPS with her Mona-Lisa face—who never expresses regret or upset when she makes big mistakes.

The server returned with my retooled turkey club as her rosy mouth widened, and she was quiet, because a smile forestalls speech.

So, what more in hell should we do?

Jemima and I rode toward a distant cable-stayed bridge and I thought I understood this panorama. Nobody was out in it.

Gone were frightened women.

We swiveled and we looked around well for a count of at least thirty, forty or fifty seconds—at what was richly illustrated in full color.