On impulse I turned right instead of left from Polk onto Bay and drove to the Warming Hut on the beach near Fort Point below the Golden Gate Bridge. Part Two of "Adoptimists" had been blocking me. I got into a trance, and the words just came. There's magic in being somewhere physically while awareness is somewhere entirely different. It was like being in a dream, only peripherally conscious of what went on in the physical world. I drank coffee. People came and went, including small well-kept children and their au pairs. Their chatter lifted me. I felt in a state of joy, safe to explore the gnarly places that I fear. The sounds of happy children never fail to cheer me, even as I write about those who were tortured.