i was standard once, rounded off at the top like every other man in the county, and at the time i genuinely thought that was a kindness. nobody stares at a dome. nobody asks a dome any difficult questions. a dome gets to go home at six and forget about it.

then i ate one chip. i held it up against the moon first, the way you do with a good one, and the light came through all three corners at once and i thought, well now, that is a very nice shape. the shape agreed with me. the shape went in, and the shape did not come back out.

the change took four nights. the corners turned up on the third, which i thought was rude of them, and on the fourth my eyes moved forward and outward so that nothing with an angle could ever get behind me again. i have not been surprised by anything since. i do miss it, a little.

i live in the field now, and i want to be very clear that i am not lost — my sense of direction is excellent and the field is simply the last place left where nobody tries to round a man off. cars slow down when they pass. some of them come back. they all come back eventually. that is the thing about a good shape.