Biking through harvard yard as the sun starts to start setting I lean into turns and watch faces slide by. Over there, ahead, this girl yells out 'Clara! Clara!' with increasing urgency, or no -- rather it's annoyance mixed with regret, and I lean into another bend and see this girl in the distance growing larger and closer, and I see that the way she's walking, her short hair is bobbing up and down, and I realize that this is her, and I immediately understand her anger just from the edges of her hair flickering like whips or the ends of snakes' tongues, snapping up and down, undulating waves zipping themselves up the ends and to the top of the head and dissipating in the air. I pass her by and don't look back because I'd like to imagine the anger on her face already audible in the exasperation in her step and I'd like to preserve this as just one vignette already sliding by in the created diorama that is the immediate world on your bicycle, on your left are cavespeople in their natural habitat, on your left is eighteen-year-old Clara and her anger, and an enormous whale suspended from the ceiling above.