Elsie always told stories — sent to curtesy school so that she could be presented to the Queen Mother, meeting Sachmo in a club on New Year’s Eve high in the mountains of Switzerland, a universal donor giving a live blood transfusion on a medical mission because she was the only one with a blood type card. The skeins of stories knitted together, creating coherence, consistency, and veracity. Wild but convincing.

The new stories are different. Unanchored. The tapestry of the impossible – a unicorn in a fantasy garden. “I’ve called her every day. I know her. I drove to their house. I found their address. I found their address in the telephone book. 911 gave me their address. And I delivered my gift to them.” Elise hadn’t driven in over five years, although she still kept her license, a reliable state ID. 411, now a computer voice, asks for but neither gives nor confirms addresses. And the phone book, without a land line has entireties of vapor.