I explained I’ve kept a journal since I learned to write. He congratulated me on my discipline and asked to look at what I had written.“I can’t ...ead this,” he said. “I don’t know your writing.”“Would you like me to teach you?” I asked.“I would.”We sat, cross-legged on the floor, facing each other. I leaned toward him until our foreheads touched. He wrapped his antennae around my head and again I fell into a trance -- an out-of-body, floating experience. I don’t think I was under his thrall for. "Sure."***And so, of course, getting a bite to eat still meant working, becausethere was Timmy and me, just minding our own business and actuallytalking, and in comes those two goons from the night before. I was alittle afraid that they could tell who I was, but there was no way theyshould have been able to. I still kept my eyes on them, though, allthrough the painfully quick Big Mac and fries that I ordered."So, your dad's a cop, right?" Timmy asked me, drawing my attention awayfrom those. More

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