Overhead here means sight and smell. The smells are intimate, newly clear. The smell of bleach's special flower, but out of it other things rise to you like a weed's seeded snow. You smell deep yellow popcorn. Sweet tan oil like hot coconut. Either hot dogs or corn dogs. A thin cruel hint of very dark Pepsi in paper cups. And the special smell of tons of water coming off tons of skin, rising like steam off a new bath. Animal heat. From overhead it is more real than anything. Look at it. You can see the whole complicated thing, blue and white and brown and white, soaked in a water spangle of deepening red. Everybody. This is what people call a view. And you knew that from below you wouldn't look nearly so high overhead. You see now how high overhead you are. You knew from down there no one could tell. He says it behind you, his eyes on your ankles, the solid bald man, Hey kid. They want to know. Do your plans up here involve the whole day or what exactly is the story. Hey kid are you okay. There's been time this whole time. You cant kill time with your heart. Everything takes time. Bees have to move very fast to stay still. Hey kid he says Hey kid are you okay. Metal flowers bloom on your tongue. No more time for thinking. Now that there is time you don't have time. Hey.