Aaron Gallagher's bedroom window was open that early morning. He was awakened by an unfamiliar sound, one that he never fully identified. Inexplicably, Vivaldi's "L'Estate" began playing in his mind, each minor chord bringing him to a higher level of consciousness. He sprung out of bed and promptly found the right record to play. The Four Seasons. He gazed out the window with violins playing both in his mind and in his apartment. To his great surprise, the fountain was bubbling happily, no longer stagnant. A smile slowly spread across his face. Somehow, the movement of water matched, with perfect synchronicity, Vivaldi's violins. He was calmly and euphorically happy for the first time in 9 months. His overwhelming sense of peace was disturbed when he noticed a crowd of people huddling outside his window. One woman looked up, and her face revealed a profound sadness Aaron had never witnessed on another human being. His eyes met hers, and he could not deny her plea for help. He ran outside to determine the cause of the murmuring and tears. In the middle of the crowd, he saw the body of a woman, bent and broken. This time, he didn't run like he had from the carnival fire. This time, people needed help, and he would provide it. This time, he did what was needed of him. He laid his jacket over the woman's lifeless body, and couldn't help noticing the look of supreme peace on her face. He recognized it as the same look his own face had had just that morning. It was a look that revealed hope and optimism: just as the gurgling fountain provided relief from Aaron's stagnant life, this woman's final decision to jump from the top of Watershed Heights, for whatever reason, provided her with the relief and satisfaction her life could never offer. Aaron stood. He turned to the man beside him and, in a newly assertive tone, asked, "Has anyone called 911?"

Aaron left the diner a little after three, frustrated at being overcharged for a less than delicious meal. After the attractive Italian woman left, he had nothing better to focus on than his bland fish. So unsatisfied, he was especially taken aback when the smell of his mother's sour cream apple pie that she made every Rosh Hashanah overwhelmed his senses. He followed the smell down the alley beside Deena's, half expecting to round a corner and see her pulling a steaming pie out of the oven. Instead, he saw a line of people pouring out of the back of the diner, arguing amongst one another:

"Hey, you can't just cut in line!"

"I've been here longer than you!"

"He's just lying so he can get pie before the rest of us!"

Aaron turned away from the disgruntled masses when a flash of light caught his attention. He saw a man snapping pictures at what seemed to be nothing at all. He wasn't even looking through the camera when he took the shots. Aaron caught himself staring at the strange man for longer than he intended. Still confused and a little wary, Aaron returned his attentions to the intoxicating scents of his family Rosh Hashanah celebrations. Hoping no one would notice, he slipped into the line in front of a couple who were too busy bickering with each other.

"No way, it smells just like lemon meringue pie! Do you not smell the lemons?"

"No, I don't smell lemons at all, I smell pecans! Pecan pie! What's wrong with your nose?"

Aaron breathed deeply.