But when he finally realizes what self he’s in he just groggily props himself up on an elbow, his thinning and matted hair clinging to his forehead, and, surprised at his lack of hangover (a vivid sensory memory of a mouth filled with hot water), rolls and drops out of bed and does his now-daily exercise routine, breathing heavily as his life up to now recedes away along tracks.

Outside Kierk isn’t really watching where he is going—he has his Hello Kitty notebook in hand and a pen is burning a hole in his back pocket.

Carmen and Alex are out for a stroll, passing between them a whipped mocha. Carmen is in shorts with her hair up in a ponytail and sports pink sunglasses, while Alex is wearing a tight V-neck and cargo shorts and sandals. It’s beautiful out, though every time they pass from the rectangular shade of a building to the brightness beyond Carmen lets loose a series of uncontrollable sneezes, and finally has to explain that it’s due to her photic sneeze reflex. Two years ago she had gotten herself genotyped, and fifty percent of the reason for getting her genome read had been to prove to her disbelieving friends that she really is genetically disposed to sneeze in response to bright light. Normally the sunglasses help but today it’s so bright that her genes are having a go of it and so she keeps sneezing wildly and Alex keeps laughing every time she does.

It’s on the tree-lined paths of Washington Square Park that Carmen spots the figure standing on one of the benches next to the dog park. He is facing away from them, looking instead at the cavorting and speedy to-and-fro of dogs. There are cries and shouts and showers of woodchips. Carmen leads Alex silently up behind Kierk, whose back stays to them as he cranes this way and that. Carmen can see his grin as he takes in the whole scene. The dogs have between them a big red bone that they keep stealing from each other, and then, as one of them takes off across the park bearing the bone in its mouth, it is like the platonic realm itself has opened up as a pack of dogs of all shapes and sizes come rough and tumble after. A merry chase of dog bodies and dog thoughts commence.

Carmen stands up on the bench beside Kierk as he is following the game. Before he turns back she nudges him with an elbow and he, in surprise, nearly falls off. His laughter fades when he sees her expression, which is like she had just caught him performing a musical instrument she hadn’t

known he played. Alex waves at him.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a dog person,” Carmen says.

Kierk shrugs, squinting, watches the parabola of a thrown ball.

“I had them growing up. What are you two doing here anyways?”