The slow crawl comes to a halt in the middle of the road leading to the sanctuary of Heaven. The Lord Almighty looks down and sees the spilling out of all the blood of the Earth, an even flow, bubbling across the mountain ranges and deep in through the river valleys. The smell is intoxicating. Not in a good way.

Then, the ringing phones at the dial-in bank display photographic images on small screens made to allow for private conversations.

As the variable-speed fans blow air all over the heads of women sitting in bathroom stalls, outside there is a gathering of insects in the trash heap in the alley. Everything is broken down. No one can communicate with anyone else at all. I grunt and moan and you grunt and moan and then we just move on through space, breathing no oxygen and taking up no physical moments.