Between ears and eyes, in a box, a sponge. Web of dreams. All illusion, self-delusion. Necessities of the moment. Take me, said he, the old bugger, barely able to stand. For example. They laughed, example! Shrieked again, example! No, no, hand out he paused, leaned harder on his stick. Bent and broke. Tumbling him down in a crumpled heap. Fresh brays of laughter. Undetered, proceeding from this new and in truth more comfortable position. The domestic animals gathered closer to inspect in the mind of this old fool, an audience of people, mocking perhaps yet attentive. Believe me, though it may not seem possible, I once was a great and honoured creator. And as such I had a pupil. Charming lad, yes. I thought often of his life entwined with mine. But dreams my friends. Hand reached out met the wet slobber of a large and hairy chin. Puzzled, he began to doubt his audience. Heavy stale and vulgar breath. Hesitated. Hesitated too long. Shuffle of hooves move off across the dry dust and stone of the terrain. Oh little one, cried he anguished, as he pushed and swayed himself upright, I ache for you! Shout swallowed into silence. Moment later, pulling stupid faces mocked himself. Ache! said he, burying the word in sour and bitter laughter. Opened once more his eye. Angelo, astride a donkey’s ass, sniggering.