The MRI machine stops pounding and ejects the patient from its bore. He had dozed off in its gentle magnetic embrace, as if he were asleep beneath the ocean or suspended in utero. The patient sits up, removes his earplugs, and smooths the streaks of his greasy combover. The technician rolls him into the hallway outside, where he waits in the wheelchair wearing his gown. He now holds a yellow ribbon attached to a mylar balloon in the shape of a star. It is a prize for being motionlessness inside the MRI machine. Eventually, an orderly guides the patient along the hallways, through the lobby, and into the sunshine, where a strong breeze causes him to lose his grip on the ribbon. The balloon rises and shrinks away. People do not notice the patient chasing the balloon or his gown fluttering behind, because they’re busy observing a solar eclipse in progress. Outside a grocery store, the patient finds a pair of coin operated vehicles: a fire engine and a rocket ship. He drags the rocket ship into the parking lot and aims it toward the balloon, deposits a coin, and squeezes inside. Liftoff is sudden, and colors darken his vision, but his focus clarifies on the balloon as he exits the atmosphere. The patient dodges the moon and increases to full throttle. The sun swells as he nears, but the balloon remains out of reach until it enters the roil of plasma. The patient holds his breath and dives after it with eyes wide and grimace bright.