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It had BEEN months sence she had had a drink. Her eyes were alive again from what comes to one with energy so pounding as to make occasional plunging down and submerging themselves appear like the likelyhood of a necessary vision questioned only by brief under- standings of illusion coming at them the way light- ing bolts through dark, yet formerly quiet heavily laden clouds sound traced not even to a normal rum- ble. Her drinking was like the counterdiction of an in- visible sheen. When drunk she was like facing off with an impossibility. Her detatchment from the world was like the way film must hide from light to use it But now she was open, and her hair was long. Her fin- gernails were polished red; but she wore no lipstick. She was parading around the Self Realization Center smiting at the universe it couldn't control by smack- ing kisses at the ducks. Each time her lips would puc- ker; she would throw her hands out also with the re- lease of the sound. She stopped to stretch in the sun. Her hair felt loose and light on her shoulders, and she let her head rest between her arms wrapped at her wr- ists, while she felt so fancy standing there in a pre- tended sleep. Now she was so healthy; but thoughts of wine and crazy sweetness opened her eyes in a weird gaze copied from her movie mind of witches. Like a