From marching ice-crystals, we suddenly shift to a pan upwards, across the hanging stone of a cave crystal-hive. The entire cave stone has the color of wax. Or those soft contact lenses you took up, the gift given you by the strange optometrist you met in the subway... they're not plastic, but wax, softly melting now across the surface of your eye (you can wash it off, but you may not even notice the change, or you might like the change, or the thoughts and feelings that come with it).     And yet I was still Jacob Maker. So I already had my new body.