At that moment in the long grass, or weeds, or whatever they were – but long, long, two feet at least – which combusted underfoot with great streams of pollen like the buckshot puffed feathers of baby birds, and the sun hung low like a swinging, lager-stained gut under a brilliant orange sweater, I realised this animal, not yet half a year old, had already tasted more of life than me; I saw myself finally, plainly, as the allergenic tears streamed over my cheeks and the mucus bubbled over my lips, as the shivering mirage of shifting neuroses I was, and am, and dived at once into the green …

 

And though the thunderous racket of traffic followed me, I was at long last learning to be lost.

 

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