Earless dogs were barking outside, east, west, north and around the suburban corner. He put down with a woody thud a freshly brewed cup of Kona. Swirling were distended arms and legs of creamy effort to reverse time. Nothing could be done. The angry epistemologist did a Google search for getting back to the beginning and the Bible, e-stolen as a scanned book, came up for the first five result pages. Where was he? At the table of course, elbows bent on it, and popped up extensions filling the kitchen. On both of them rested saucers of food from several days of ignored and scarfed meals, mostly toasted. Fingers tapped and a fork was rattled. King James echoed in the front end of the background. Somewhere Moses and Pharoah were binge-watching Rocky movies. With head in both palms a rush of nostalgia for galoshes overwhelmed the philosopher. Cold feet wanted to walk, but the right word was just beyond the tip of the tongue. He sipped. He stood and touched his toes. Blood flowed from belly to temporal lobes. Gradually and suddenly he was in Sunday School putting his hands down his pants when nobody was looking.