A hideous man grabs for my keys, I clutch them to my throat. My car is missing, he must have stolen the recipe and forged a simile. I plead with his mother, she replies dryly, I didn’t think he was that sort. Friends urge me kill the culprit. He should suffer, they lament in chorus. My therapist tells me the car has departed the station, I must stop rummaging in sewage. I bawl and snivel. She hands me the keys. The car has vanished, she says. But you never lost the keys.