It takes a long time before the lone red balloon is gone from sight. In the end the mystery of its demise is left to the inaccuracy of the resolution of human vision. And, in time with the rise of trapped inert gas, the rusted roller coaster tracks have fallen over by another 1/1,000,000 of an inch. The ocean waves pound on the gritty Long Island shore in a white hiss, penetrating the low-register of his eardrums, and Gene feels any urge to action like a blob of spilled jelly on a slightly inclined table. He sits in his caravan, a space with seven seats, that contains the same kinetic energy as the fast food packages and leftovers on the passenger seat across from him. He scrounges around through the trash there to find his phone and dials up Jason Gunn. As hr hopes, Jason answers

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