She came on the spur of the moment, and the hollow dreamers and politicians all find subtle reasons for that, slender enough to pass between the earth and moon. We feel like metaphysical wallflowers hovering around the perimeter of the ballroom hoping something or other will ask us to dance. Her spies are everywhere. Inflation is rampant. The silhouettes of antiquity will abruptly emerge from over the horizon like the sudden flash of a truck’s headlights in the night. Jack and Jill went up the hill. Where are they now?