[ This makes sense in the broad strokes, less so in Palamedes beaming about it over a lemonade. John is silent a beat, as though waiting for some drawn conclusion, some great understanding that has come of this. None arrives.

With a sort of fond resignation, he steeples his fingers and leans in to consider the implications. ]

Okay. Let's say I follow. We die, the whole town dies, then the whole thing just— [ He pops his intertwined hands apart in illustration. ] Comes apart, gets stitched back together?

[ And then, in genuine thought: ] So the buildings unstick. What about the people?