It is morning. I am confused and carrying an ugly bucket from the trash bin back to the pumphouse. I see a strange object, a steel strut with bolts at both ends leaning against the van --the '71 van I have driven and tinkered with for 35 years and have almost got working the way I want. I ask my stunt double,"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"
"It looks important and yet, curiously, they survived," I say. "How crucial can it be?" It appears to have great tensile strength and comes up to my hips.
I toss it onto the pile and watch it roll out of sight.
"They'll figure it out. Best we can do is include all the pieces."
I return my disreputable bucket to the pumphouse and drive my cargo into the future. I trust anybody who buys an art table will be clever enough to assemble it. There's a whole world to be built and rebuilt from countless points. This is one of them.