Lunacy. In the attic of the house in which I was born, I peer up through a skylight to see the moon. After turning to tell my sister that the moon is full, I glance back to find it grown several times larger and superbly well-defined. The moon now seems to be churning according to its own laws of symmetry, with craters and mists and shadows each appearing, then swelling into fullness, then subsiding very quickly and with an astonishing degree of continuity. I look down and the ground begins to shake, then heave. Seeking shelter on the street, I stumble between falling telephone poles as the house collapses. Minutes then hours pass, and the earthquake does not subside, though it does not get stronger either. After staggering through the night I take refuge in someone's basement until the ground stops moving. He does not want to speak to me but does not ask me to leave. I glance through a high window to see the sun coming up.