For the first time in what feels like years, Bogie’s gin-and-tonic’s mood is hopeful. “Turning a new page,” he thinks, although he realizes that feasibly, there’s not much of a page to turn. Yet recently he’s had this idea that he might actually be climatic, like clouds or rain, not something merely poured. This glass only encapsulates his current form, but he has others, and someday the sun will call him up into a cloud over a river flowing to the sea. And then he’ll be his true self. Not like this.⠀