“Is there a way to unsmoke the window so I can see what’s going on?” “Yes,” Trey says reluctantly, sounding irritated that he isn’t able to lie to me, “but I don’t want you to see what’s out there.” A part of me trusts him to know that I shouldn’t see it, but another part of me, the survivalist—the chameleon—has to know what’s happening—has to take it in—has to learn from it so that I can somehow avoid a similar fate in the future.
