Sam was, deep down, a narcissist, as he suspected everyone else was, too, and the first thing that occurred to him was that the hallucinatory sight must be, somehow, a sign for him. The universe communicates in mysterious ways, and so this was its way of telling him -- what, exactly?

He studied it: a grand piano, ornately decorated, plopped right into the middle of the beach, not too far from the tide's rhythmic reach. He stood there and thought. What could it mean? He didn't play piano. He didn't know anyone who played piano. He wasn't a particular fan of classical music, or jazz.

Maybe the point was its incongruity? Like surrealism? Was that the message -- to think outside the box?

When he finally arrived at the coffee shop to get his daily coffee, he was disappointed by the banality of the solution: a pop star was making a music video. Of course. Always, always, he tried to listen to the universe, but never did it seem to be speaking to him. He was well used to social loneliness, having experienced it for most of his life, but this was a grander, more devastating kind of loneliness: the growing certainty that, despite all he had been taught during his ultra-religious childhood, there was nothing watching over him, no invisible audience rooting for you. I could die right now and nobody would notice, he thought suddenly, but that thought was immediately followed by another: I can do whatever I want.