Curtis is a shoe. He's not sure where the thought comes from, but it's there. Curtis is a shoe. Everyone else is a hat. They belong on the head. Curtis belongs on the foot. Curtis does the grunt work. Hats are the one that get the good things. Aren't they? The breeze? The sky? The sunshine? He doesn't hold her anger against her. He was the same way days before.

"Stupid magic shit?" As far as Curtis is concerned magic isn't real. Science usually explains the unknown. A man made ice age for example. Fucking science. "I don't think pulling a rabbit out of a hat got us here."