081413 #worm When the dear old waitress brings my change, she drops a piece of paper on the table, too. It looks like some kind of a map. I try to get her attention to tell her she dropped something, but she's already gone, gone, gone. Dorbifyr and Hanad perch on pigeon-polished boulders by the lake. He takes her hand. Her silhouette is bonnetted. She breathes deeply. Shorebirds screel, and wheel around. The moon is smoky. They are the first ones here. Of all those expected to arrive, they have been in love the longest.