Timeout

"It's time, boys." And so does the evening come to an end in many a public drinking-house. This is just one of the many ways that Eliot tells us the universe winds up; the sky does not quite unfold, but the drinks stop coming.

I have just had a dream of things refolding rather than unfolding, of things being sewn up and closing back in on themselves. Neatness, it seems, holds its own terrors.