I am not a black egg, thought the man with the beard. Despite this brooding, an egg-shaped silhouette situated itself around the man’s shoulders and head. When he jerked to the left or right, the black egg followed each abrupt movement. There seemed to be no losing it. The man with the beard called on his friend, also a man with a beard. That is not a black egg, said the friend, that’s a war-head. It’s because you’re always thinking of war.
The man with the beard was scared. It was true that he always thought of war. He sought out the residence of a purported fortune teller. The door opened, and the man saw a woman lodged in a black triangle, only her face showing. What I am purported to be, I am not, said the woman, and she closed the door. Please, said the man to the closed door, I wear the curse of a war-head, and from the opposing side came and I am cursed to every argument. The black egg dropped to its knees on the doormat as all of the triangle’s vectors pulled against its draw. ♦