We casually shook hands, made some superfluous banter about how the conversation had been friendly, and then—because it was raining—I reached down to get my umbrella off a chair. By the time I returned to an upright position, Steve Nash was already on the other side of the street. It was like someone had taken a laser beam, obliterated every atom in his body, and instantaneously reconstructed his entire anatomy forty feet to the west. This was some Philip K. Dick–Star Trek–vampire shit. And it was also somewhat ironic, because we had spent a large portion of our conversation discussing the
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