My hand—are you going to hold it again? Looks like I'm dumber than you think. Wanting you to cling to me like I am an economic power and you the poorest of nations seeking forgiveness of your debts. You left a platter of fish under the chin of a cat the first time you took my hungry digits in your calloused palm. What an attractive man, I thought. I have hardly any memory of the man who thought that. When I try to find him all I see are yellow flowers shaking, as if we were playing hide and seek in a barley field.