He liked to flatter himself in the light, bathing it in like the redeemer, unaware of how ridiculous he was 'cause all redemption is muddled in a fuzzy glow. He beat proud there when she rolled through, parasol in hand. She, hidden from him no matter how he might think to call the moment. And they, all of them, want some too. Each to their own, but in the mix with whosoever is percolating.