“How long did it take you to get to Al Dunlap’s house?” he asked me. I shrugged. “Ten hours on the plane,” I said. “Plus a round-trip by car to Shubuta, Mississippi, which took about another fifteen or sixteen hours.” “So you traveled thousands of miles just to chronicle the crazy aspects of Al Dunlap’s personality,” said Adam. There was a short silence. “Yes,” I said. I peered at Adam. “Yes, I did,” I said, defiantly. “You’re like a medieval monk,” Adam said, “stitching together a tapestry of people’s craziness. You take a little bit of craziness from up there and a little bit of craziness
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