It's dark. Joan's outside on the porch alone, wrapped in this blanket, sniffling to herself. Suddenly a little white dog runs up out of nowhere, dragging a leash. She pets him: "Hey, little guy, where'd you come from?" I think it's hilarious that a dog is the harbinger of God's presence, but I'm overly invested in paranomastic pursuits. Pretty soon he's there with the other half-dozen or whatever dogs, apologizing for the escapee. He beams at her with fatherly warmth, and I have to admit, he's a pretty good choice for God. That's probably my Judeo-Christian upbringing showing, since it's been a real long time since I conceived of God as paternal -- or male, for that matter. Joan says weakly, "Guess I didn't do such a good job today." Dog Walker God: "What are you talking about? You raised your grade from a D to a C." Joan: "C-plus. It's just my dad…what happened…he couldn't handle it." Dog Walker God assures her, "Well, he has his missing note. He'll play it when the time is right." Joan nods, but I don't think she's convinced. He adds, "It's a long song, Joan." I get all choked up by the way he says this. "So many variations. And, you never know what the next phrase is going to be." So life is like something by Erik Satie, or John Cage, or Iannis Xenakis? I can probably deal with that. So long as it's not like a Broadway show. He beckons his dogs and walks off.