“Your existence has punched a hole in my life. Or rather, it’s embedded deep within me.” Without realizing it, he was clutching the front of his shirt almost hard enough to tear it. In desperation, he clutched it even harder, and then he hastily smoothed out the wrinkles, staring down at his chest and hand as if concerned about the flow of blood from a bayonet wound. In the middle of their conversation, he felt stranded.
