They cross me. These streaks of agate. They're red and warning. But I'm already out of bed. They cross me. These streets, like a death. Bright and sunny. This is fast becoming. Not my design. This isn't what I had in mind. It struck me. Last night, what you said. It's almost funny. How quickly you forget. This is fast becoming not my design. I think it's up and running from what I had in mind. This isn't what I had in mind.