THE MEDIUM. That second you trip your other foot takes a cue and decides to slip. But you’d rather not bow so you do the splits and let it all spill out like a faucet drips. That terminal visit, make a call, give a number and take a ticket. Get seated, have a drink and take it in. The medium can now begin. You’ll not soon forget the diplomat you’d never met, who said you were dry when you were wet. You’ll not soon forget the time you left for the better get, but you left behind a more precious set. That time that you hit a drug so literal you joined its addicts. The clock ticked and talked in a static. Make the ghost linger longer, I need it! That moment you trip, fall head over heels and abandon it. A fortune’s a failure just resurrected. The medium has been collected. You get tuning error. You get dissonant tone. You get a little proximity, but you’re really not even close. You be the file bearer, be the backslash tree extender, be executive script or the window will close.