*Jim is somewhere, but where? He’s not sure. He’s even less sure where he’ll be. This he shares with us all. His delusion of certainty has melted like the iceberg that became a little too friendly with The Titanic. Whatever happened to that iceberg? The sinking of The Titanic got all the press. Not even a mention of the iceberg at all. Jim sometimes feels like that. But sometimes he also feels like The Titanic. And sometimes he just feels like the impact between The Titanic and the iceberg. Sometimes he feels like a passenger. Sometimes he feels like someone that was going to be on the ship, but something prevented them from doing so. And sometimes he feels like all these things at once, an ineffable bolus of existential free-fall. * * * *Jim once had it all. His realm was swaddled in first-person pluralities. His laughter sounded like waves crashing on some rocky outcrop. He loved the smell of wood-smoke. He was doe-eyed. He had a passport. * * * * * * *