He held his eyes closed. Dash, Dot, Circle, set into stone with a chalk. A boy and a second boy drawing symbols in front of a castle, excerted by drizzling rain, wearing caps and masks, their scriptures hardly visible, down on the gound, gleaming, set in concrete. When he was ringing the enterence door, one of the boys ran, less delicate, more like a wounded hourse, holding a lucid sheet, something electric. In the meantime the other boy had become a girl, and though the mask still covered his face, she was one of the most gracious, a mizzle of auratic being, sighted from his ear conches, felt up to the tips of his fingers. He was ringing. The man who opened the door seemed familiar, no, he actually knew him, his mask was a feathered costume casted with golden stucco, he was a friend from the old days. A yearning for redemption, Redemption through Sinning.