There was a video of some sort. A stream. On the internet. A woman, cooking. Exotic it was. Both the food she was handling and herself. As the light fizzed upon her olive skin, she beamed and whipped her bowl of eggs and flour—the enthusiasm oozing out of her like sweat. Everything was so well prepared. She was pretty. Big eyes. Deep eyes. She stirred something within me. Not necessarily sexual—although I wouldn’t say no—no, it was that she cooked so beautifully. And passionately. I’m a terrible cook. I burn everything because I’m scared of undercooking stuff and getting food poisoning. Anyway, the woman dropped dead. One second, she was smiling as she chop chop chopped something out of view, and then the next, she frowned as if deep in thought—as if someone had asked her a troubling question. Then, swaying this way and that, she raised her hands to her temples and promptly collapsed. The pots of food went everywhere. The stream rolled regardless.