Technology keeps humming to Aristotelian extremes. The cigar with its plantations. A manageable stretch from there to when you left, even while I ruled out the 90 yards between us.

You hadn’t left a name, either. But I stood closer to your side, always wrong. And I should know. I had to know. It came pouring out, dazzling the lighting thereof, and beyond, moving forward filling empty business speak around the table.

An interim for you, pushing up and out.