I wrote this short story a couple few years ago while on an airplane flying down to Georgia. Apparently I wrote it in a fit of the crap happening with my family. It was just after Christmas and my parents refused to talk to me and me to them and had spent the Christmas holiday with my Resident Director’s family. They were great and nice, but I was damn aware that I wasn’t with MY family, and couldn’t be with them. Ironically, I was also on my way to visit Evan. Not Brack. So this had to be January of 2000. Diagnosing the mind of the protagonist could be a bit like diagnosing the mind of my developing mental illness.