In the noosepaper room, the bodies of stories swing in a hypnotic pendulum
Bloom repeatedly tries to get his ad published, ad nauseam
Keyes cannot open success nor will it help enter his house tonight.
Leneham speaks of the Rose of Castile; she's giving a private concert
Someone's left an unmarked bag at the door. No one open it.
A bared-a** Crawford, floats upon a cloud, and surveys his news kingdom
A red-haired Moses stops, making sure England is not following his people
Tongues are running, tripping over each other, rolling into a text that avalanches
Into a wordplay in which the actors are hand shadows that reach
To touch palms but shadows have no substance
And so they cross each other
Into a black
X.
CLICK TO EXIT.
Going out of the news room, frowning, Bloom's headlines show the words: THE ADVENTURE THAT BARELY BLOOMED. He clicks his teeth. Vanishes. Stephen makes to go but stops at the bag lying near the door. A ma** moves inside, forming a hump that liquidly glides in a circle wanting to escape. He reaches for it. The news room windows explode like dandelion fuzz, papers snow over Dublin with the headlines: DUBLIN'S NEWS BLOW.