The dim patio doesn't care. Suzie doesn't care. Why should he? Such a surly night, young yet in its tousled wisps of breeze, nevertheless teases from within Jack a dull flame that stretches inexorably eastward toward what once was; and, accelerated by hope, dares to extrapolate, lapping finally upon the ravaged shores of what still could be. The night is glasslike, cool. Jack looks like a blond koala.