I think about this. I know he might well be barking mad, but then again—if he is, so am I. He made me see things, see stories even as he spoke their words. I still don’t know what’s happened between the two of us, whether he drugged me into accepting some hallucinatory reality of his own the first night I met him. But if I’m dancing with a trickster, I’m nothing if not awed by each step, each move. He’s leading, with skill.
