In the potted shrub by the doors of the hotel there's a bird's nest where the chicks are cheeping, clamoring for food from their harried parents.
The purple, pink, and periwinkle ponies are prancing.
Sometimes you can hop back from what you did and undo it to some extent; other times it feels like you're walking the plank, and the ocean is stirring hungrily.
They watch a video of themselves when they were younger. In the video one of them is a two-year-old with a skeptical frown and piping voice, a love of books and balloons; the other is a newborn – swaddled, sleepy, the oblivious center of attention.
Pigeons in the station underground, strutting single-mindedly.
Though he gets how to play Chutes and Ladders he doesn't seem to mind the setbacks - he enjoys making his game piece go down those long fun colorful slides.
It's not the first time we've seen Star Wars. We know what happens. Yet there we are side by side on the couch, eyes riveted to the screen as we track Luke Skywalker's progress along the trench in the Death Star.