sailboat and motorcycle were conspicuously missing. She wasn't sure how she felt. In her room she took off some expensive, gaudy earrings and slipped out of her dress. The closet was now hers. His clothes were missing. Only the toes of her myriad shoes were within this capsule confronting her naked feet. Gracefully, with the highest poise, she swaggered from room to room to counter an inclination to stagger. Rick's room was vacuous space making her life unbearably vapid. She mourned the loss of her other son before going to the ball game. She was spread out on a bleacher resting her eyes into the intricate mosaic of the silhouette of leaves and taking a break from her sketch (myriad tiny nude candymen having sex with various women, the women having candymen babies in their arms, and each copulation and baby scene wrapped in its own circle or monad; these monads making up total planets, and ultimately the planets composing the cellular outline of a long fanged beast that was the lonely universe) when the man with the unmemorable name looked down upon her. "Hello, Gabriele, do you remember me?" Startled, she turned to him. "Yes, but I'd never be able to say your name." He laughed. No one outside of the immediate family would be able to do that. What an intricate sketch!" "Do you like art?" "I love it." He said it so simply with such sincerity that the breath of his idea went up her nostrils titillating her with pleasure. "After you finish your sketch I think you should paint it onto an enormous canvas with a dismal red and black background." "Yes, I like that idea, even if being so large it is never sold." "Oh, it would fit over the staircase of a millionaire's old home perfectly. You'll sell it in time." "I was sitting here not knowing how to apply this thing really and was becoming annoyed at myself on different levels." "For what reason?" "For lots of reasons: a personal life that is shit, an idea I wasn't sure what to do with until you came along, annoyed at being annoyed by this large crowd as if they need to be quiet for me." Sang Huin had been on the bleachers at a stadium with his new Pocket PC when a foreigner looked down upon him. "Anyong Haseyo," said the man. "English, please. I'm an American still getting used to kimchee with every meal." The man chuckled. "So am I. From what state?" "The Midwest mostly but I've been all over — born in Missouri but my father had to travel a lot." "You look a bit agitated." "I'm trying to write on my book. I guess I am annoyed at feeling annoyed." "About what? "The noise, I guess. I was trying to get away from noise. That's why I came here initially." "To a ball game?" "Strange, huh? Well the bleachers weren't full when I came." "It isn't exactly a library. So are you saying that your feelings are mostly agitation or being agitated about being agitated?"