High-definition vision, silence. You turn on some music, as you head north on Interstate 5. Continuity takes over the taste of coffee, twisting caffeine into history, pasts breathing on cinematic choreographies. The decent god in you hopes to deliver everything that gives symphony of truths. That's the hope. But the audacity of that hope is often set aside. Perhaps this is necessary, even inevitable. Creators need illusions, after all, especially the best illusions that can frame the best pictures, those that expand, become memory, or those that feel like fresh night-air, at the next rest-stop.