Sitting sickly on the sidewalk, Lou looks both ways before deciding his destiny. Making notes in a tattered book, Lou steadies his hand and he maps out his moves. One scribble at a time Lou writes what he knows, scrawling: I know there are many kinds of lettuce, but not why the memory of a season can be condensed into the angles of sunbeams on the living room floor. I know I have waited two seasons to reproduce the effect, but like sports and soil, some of life just can’t hold. Lou takes all of this in stride. Musing on his notes, he veers off – thinking for a minute about how video games reproduce childhood – how he was both the barrel and the hammer. And now, forever climbing ladders, our hero is approaching the killscreen. Now he understands that coming full circle can never return him to the same point, that a beam of light strikes indifferent eyes in different ways.