To have the desire to get milk and to go and get actually milk, from the store, in New Balances, running down and then back up six flights, with milk, and to finish the Elenbaas talk about dharma and the ascendant, and to focus on this question of fountains, so as to begin something, and also continue, so as to have adequate days to amend, ameliorate, improve, polish, better that which I’ve begun, writing, that is, a piece—about fountains, so as to complete an assignment, a text, for an exhibition, so as to get money, so as to give it back, that’s right TD Visa, so as to negate what was made actual: a meal, a purchase, a cost, an item, made mine, by my word and will, with the absented head/away daze of being here, busy and idle, purposed and lost, tasked and unmoored, and, now, owled, as an owl, or with them or one or as yes as one, hunting in the night and resting too. I had a dream about a group of people and one of them, this man, something happened to him. I remembered it so well this morning I imagined never being able to forget. So I will, okay, immediately, stop at the round-the-corner grocery store—overpriced, expensive, windowed, there—and purchase with a wave of my bank card’s chip, milk.