The Early Cenozoic was in a lull between morning and the lunch rush. Pamella the barista was tending some suspended air plants. The décor had changed since Alfonzo’s last visit. The wallpaper behind the plants was a new pattern of cosmic splatter swirls against a blue-purple background. The walls pulsed like a display at the natural history museum. Environments can change so easily—you look away for a moment, and leaves burst from trees, paint transforms an interior. Look away again and when your eyes return, those leaves have browned and fallen and there’s a FOR RENT sign in the window of the freshly painted room. Over a weekend, a café can go from white cube to stars and moon. A vibration you’ve only just managed to feel can disappear before you have a chance to locate its source.

Mitchell called out to Pamella, “Can you chat with us for a moment?”

“If you buy something.”

“Two salad boxes.” Mitchell turned to Alfonzo. “One thing I haven’t told you, but probably should, is that Pamella and I have been seeing each other.”

Pamella brought the greens.

“Have I formally introduced you?” Mitchell asked. “This is my friend for life, and this is my sister in the struggle.”

“Hey,” Alfonzo said.

“Hey.”

“Hay is for horses,” Mitchell added.

“Oh my, you two, always with the jokes.”

“So, Pamella, I think this will be of interest: Alfonzo is scared because Shergar has made a move. They’re closing the basement and bringing in Seadyne to rehab the pipes, and fix ‘leaks.’ He’s worried they’re going to discover his paper trail.”

Her round eyes became bigger and rounder. “Interesting,” the lemur chirped.

“This is the moment I have to tell our dear alpaca everything.”

Pamella reached out her paw and squeezed Alfonzo’s shoulder in a sisterly way. She said, “Go with the flow.”

Alfonzo studied the wooden benches, the potted plants, the big glass window framing a building being renovated. Half the building was its old self, a reddish brick affair, and half was a future self of glass and exposed metal beams. A yellow crane arched its huge neck over the building’s exposed guts.

Mitchell began humming in such a strange way that Alfonzo could do nothing but listen.

“I knew the bubble was going to burst; I just didn’t know what would do it. This is a kind of relief because it forces us to act rather than continue to wait and watch. I did hope it would take longer, as I am only beginning, only now meeting the animals, only now learning to breathe in a new way. But one cannot pick the battles of one’s era.