"Flinching, he swiftly turned his head away...one of P.V.'s organic farmer's market bags was upturned and flop-handled on the faux travertine tile. Heads of cabbage, tomatoes, and other rotund produce were frozen after momentum like billiard balls--separately and in pairs--at the cessation of their rolling journey, the smaller ones wedged partially under cabinets...he kept his gaze on them for a moment, recording how all was so whistling clean, shiny...he inhaled as much air as he could and sighed again, almost noiselessly and deliberate, letting out the whole world. Silent, he looked away again. And with all of that, Rev. knew he had him..." Wifey