The doctor goes downstairs into the fogbound street in early morning light, through which he can make out nothing but a big oak. He remembers the young woman he was treating has died- and stands still, without purpose. He thinks he sees the head of a zebra, ears up, rounding the base of the tree. The long stripes, all shades of gray and charcoal, mirror the shades of the branches. The doctor returns to the house and smells coffee brewing. He considers the zebra’s nose, its darker shade. It is as though this warm nose has bent down and kissed him in his sleep.