Detective Grace Abe checks the pockets of the man, who, fallen in the middle of Caifornia St. is being wrapped by the attendants. Rupert Waley, Russian Hill address, had emerged from his black chauffeured limousine and been slashed dying. He's wrapped and is slid into the van. It's almost evening. Then, one is the relativity, the moving desert, night that occurs only in time, as impermanence.
Conversation is only a barrier, as it is continually programmed in conventionality.