I’m whipping plates around like chainsaw blades (though for some reason they don’t break) at all the goodguys who enter the room. It’s theatrics really, part of a grand showdown between good and evil that I know I am going to lose, because that’s just how the story goes, but it’s fun while it lasts. When I run out of plates, I move on to the liquor bottles. I smash a tequila’s neck off and use the broken-off neck as a shot glass. You come in with a laptop. You’re working on homework and want help with something. “Did you know art is just random collections of bits and pieces? That you—” “Yes I did know that, or, at least, I knew that when I was a kid. But then I got to be a demon king, and I was like, you have to do this, and you have to this, and this goes here, and this goes there, and it’s not as fun anymore. There are some advantages; your capabilities get greater. But your flexibility gets limited. I think the person who chooses to be a lifelong artist is the person who finds ways to say ‘fuck you’ to the limitations on randomness.” “Well yeah, but for this, all I need you to do is look at this paragraph. I... [scrolling through document on screen] Oh look, someone has been here already...” It says something like *...hope you know that being here, just being here, is the greatest privelige of my...* “...should we see who it is?” I’m inwardly smiling because I already know it was me, from way way back, from before, when we were both basically kids.