He has seen himself for the first time. There on that groomed and immaculate putting green, Jani has taken first steps on a journey leading to a polished, baby-blue world. It's a world that feels smooth to the touch, like the flawless finish of a Chrysler LeBaron. This, he thinks, is what dreams are made of. All perception before this moment has been inarticulate lies. How did I get here, he thinks to himself. Slowly he recalls the quart's worth of Budweiser-branded Chelada he had consumed in the past hour or so. Perhaps this is the ambrosia which has opened the doors in the mind that he had never seen before. A mind that is now truly his, where before it had felt like a strange brain wrongly assigned to him at birth. Perhaps, too, it was the joy emanating from the Michael's Furniture Showplace Invitational into which he has stumbled. All these people, beautiful, are welcoming him, beckoning to him, obliging him to join in their celebration of life and well-made but recession-minded furniture. Does it really matter what brought me here, wonders Jani. I only know that I am here and that I am loved.