Flames stink up the place. Hay on fire. Let’s dump all this way in the rearview. We will be leaving footholds in town, doubles of blurs in dizzy luxury, punching thru colorless straw and spheres in embers.

Hay savors its just punishment! — regulatory propriety could care less, looking to nominal trivia — exactly what we recoil from. Who are these authorities summoning logical defenses to endorse their own Hail Mary passes and our first entertaining containment?