Michael could hear their soft sounds. Giggles, coos, light moans and whispers. Bits of exposed fleshed come into soft focus fleetingly before disappea...ing out of view again. ‘Upper classmen,’ he thought, trying not to look to closely into the writhing shadow. ‘Happy to see each other ... will I really will become comfortable with it…with that? Doing that…so brazenly?’ Clearly others noticed too, because the line slowed a bit, heads craning to see. Crane walked on a bit before noticing he was. Droughts and floods were still the Australian markers. I finished my wine. Charlotte seemed engrossed in the final chapters of Tree of Life -- the dressmaker, the concert with the Jewish violinist, Stan’s death; the boy with a piece of glass who would write a poem.I thought of Finnegans Wake and of Mann’s Magic Mountain and the way modern novels end, begin, circle. Eddison, too. Ouroboros. In Antony and Cleopatra she’s wished ‘all the joy of the worm’. But worm might be dragon.“Gordy! Are you. More

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