He didn’t mention the dead girl, didn’t feel sorry for her for a second. He just wanted to see it and remember it. So he could draw it later on. And I started remembering how he used to ask me what color the fire at the station was, and whether I’d seen cats and dogs that had been shot, were they lying on the street? Were people crying? Did I see how they died? After that . . . I couldn’t be with him anymore. I couldn’t answer him. [After a pause.] I don’t know if I’d want to meet with you again. I think you look at me the same way he did. Just observing me and remembering. Like there’s an
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