I’d probably feature my attempting to defend him by my jumping to the ground like a soldier in the first World War attempting to dodge an incoming mortar shell while bearing in mind that attempting to close out a shot wouldn’t necessarily work either as my memory is aware of the time I I lifted up a suitcase filled with clothes and a few books and tilted a little bit on my feet which means that the only solution left is to snap my fingers and float like the ghost of an idea that flourishes like a quince tree in amber Catalonian light thanks to the snap of a celestial pair of fingers that sometimes drop their habitual camouflage and appear in the sketchbooks of well-known naturalists like Van Gogh, M.C. Escher, and others.