i

I Why, that man striding along a few feet ahead of you in the downtown lunchtime crowd doesn't have a crown! How brazen, how obscene! Longing to look away, but quite unable to do so, you follow the empty space hovering above his head, but right at the curb, precisely between Walk and Don't Walk, it erupts into a geyser of electrum and emeralds, a rich and swirling violence that subsides as swiftly as it appeared. This is the rare intermittent crown, spouting just a few times in the bearer's lifespan—in some cases, only once!, and sometimes (cruelly!) during sleep.

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