2. He, painfully too self aware, lives on the edge of the circle; she, aware only of others, lives within it. He can only circle her; she knows nothing of what lies be beyond.
3. First there was coyote. Then came prairie dogs and snails. And finally, ants.
4. What seems order is not order at all, but only a different kind of disorder. Order, for him, is coins lined up in a row, centered on a straight line and equidistant, edge to edge. Order, for him, is the understanding that, each time he enters his room, the line will be undisturbed and the count will not vary. Order is looking out the window as infrequently as possible, and when he must (and he must), trying in vain to ignore the glowing plastic grass and cardboard leaves being moved by tiny motors.
5. When Sherry (not her name, for no name is required, ever) leaves her house, she refuses to return by the same route. Always there must be another way, an alternate circuit. If no alternative presents itself, say she has to go down a short walkway to fetch a copy of the weekly coupon paper and then must return by the same walk, her solution will be to make the return trip walking backwards. The difficulty, when she thinks about it, is that she can only use this solution once. There can be no second time. And she is running out of coupons.
6. Jeffry, or whoever he might be (not his name, etc.), is surely not crazy. No one can accuse him of that. Well, they could, but that would be silly, as he wouldn’t listen, and besides, no one, especially Jeffry, has any idea what that word might actually mean.
7. In the beginning was a ring of fire, which expanded to become the Earth, a globe atop a startlingly oversized turtle; a globe with no end point and therefore no start point, which is pretty much because it's round in all directions.
8. For Sherry and Jeffry, there is simply no point to any of this. It all (especially the globe called Earth) being pretty much pointless anyway.
9. Which is, satisfyingly, the end of it all. Or the beginning.