…sick, my brothers are sending me home. This place infects me. Templeton my smooth little pill… such images I have. Such voices, that high voice, the little girl’s so naughty, talking to me, all the time now. How I hate her… the train is empty, Albany a small, spangled fish… this train is all brown velvet… the train slows, I am in Templeton, oh. Templeton, Templeton, the train says, slowing down. The lake, the blue, is an embrace.