My Virginia Woolf-obsessed college professor was in my backyard. Incidentally, her name was actually Mrs. Dalloway. And she was about to die.

But not before cooing some reassurances to me about how beautiful & pleasant & necessary death is.

Then Mrs. Dalloway set to making her final arrangements, which included the Geico gecko who was to be her guide and companion on her journey to the underworld. She went to the gate in the side yard where an invisible gondola was moored. She got in and disintegrated.

Then her scrawny dog ran into my house where I was now located. My mother said it was fitting the dog should die, that it would prove its loyalty to Mrs. Dalloway by doing so. We watched the dog suffer.