Haifa, 2005 - I'm having a hard time holding things straight. I keep loitering in bus stations, watching women flip backwards through magazines. Seems, late- ly, maybe I ought to move back home, learn some new vocabulary, Kylie, this tongue-dance, good metaphor. The lights click on. In the uplands it's flooding. And I'd like to tell you, oh, I wish sometimes you'd find me compelling, I think you would if I were ever around. I want to tell you I fear falling into religion just for a scaffold of proper names, greetings, expansive gestures. I'd be two toothless men arguing fares with knives for a caucus of bored travellers. I'd as-one with these waiting women pause, glance knowingly at this departure lounge ceiling loudspeaker, and hear.