We see what the hillside  immeuble  sees...across  Deseret  to the  blanc  Antarctic Sands.. in the near distance a little dust-devil gathers, perhaps getting ready to go to work at the telephone company, where it will talk to puzzled customers ("who's there? You who?) or ring empty phonebooths for 8-10 hours straight... low paying, unsatisfying work.     A l'intérieur des cibles, je pressentais des âmes. J'abandonnais mon ancien moi.