By the way we carry on, Jack, everyone has started to think that I am the villain. They do not know that you have eyes that are the hardest to look into. Small black chasms that ask me for everything I have to give if I look long enough. I get tired of filling them up sometimes and I am afraid that you will suck me dry. You chase me down like a shadow cast by streetlamps when I am walking home and grab my elbow so that I cannot go anywhere. But you have a weak grip that never leaves a mark, so nobody can ever be certain of the way you blackmail me. You know you’ve got the best books on me, and this is why you have that laugh. It’s the one that knows that you own me — the one that is an echo of the one I leaned over and laughed into your bottomless eyes to try to keep them satisfied.