It begins. November 2017. He read the following: 'with such a look of bliss on his face that the people realized he had been transfigured by a holy ecstasy'. I see you lithe and watery-eyed, flitting and flecked from activity, your fine bounce and flawless stride pump the rivers of my ecstasy. What's gone wrong, what's brought on such a massive change? From highness on the wine of life to hungover on earthly strife. Gliding gulls in the grey sky. Dublin December morning. You're the golden summit of what comes up here to live every single day. He worried that he was becoming numerically dyslexic. He would seek out Catalan lessons in the new year. It was the day when Unwin and Quintana came by. One of those recurring dreams I have set on Abercorn Road. In a technology trance he thought of colonies on the ...