Dec 29 2003
To: All The Right People
It was an ordinary traffic stop (I thought). Nothing unusual.
Only later, as I dined on caviar and spam, did it occur to me to wonder whether I’d imagined the whole thing: imagined driving a vehicle, imagined being pulled over, imagined running for the hills and being riddled with bullets.
Had I become so distanced from reality?
Or was this just another day in the life of a spineless fictional character, me another meaningless assemblage of facts freely rearranged at the slightest whim of some invisible creator more distanced from this simple existence than I could ever be.
I felt something like indigestion burning inside.