Stemming from the view I was afforded during my illness, I witness grasshoppers flying across the plain, undulating through the grass. I press my nose against the window. The windows of the building are sealed. If only I could smell the grass or let me bare feet provide a fun obstacle for the insects. My nurse tells me that she is negotiating a short visit outside. My chances of this visit increase the more money I am willing to pay them. If only it were about money. It’s really about illness. Will they buy that?