This Episode Is Dedicated to “Speak Your Mind, Even If Your Voice Shakes.” ME: Is everything still like it was, between us? HIM: Do you mean, is everything between us, still like it was? ME: No. I mean, is everything still between us, like it was. Because it was, you know. And all day long I’m afraid it still is. HIM: I’ll tell you what, I’m kind of afraid too. ME: Is there any reason to be? HIM: Is there any reason to _be?_ ME: No! No! Is there any reason we should be afraid? HIM: That depends. ME: On what? HIM: On whether you were saying “No! No!” in response to my question about there being a reason to be, or if you were simply using it to negate me. ME: Negate you. HIM: Is that a command, or a selection from the multiple-choice menu I offered you before? ME: Selection. Now can you tell me if I should be afraid? HIM: No. # ME: I shouldn’t? HIM: No! No! I meant I can’t tell you. TIME TRAVELER ME: { _Use Subroutine 7 lines down, inserting these phrases: [the idea that I shouldn’t be afraid (and if not, if you please, why not?)] [the idea that you can’t tell me] [a sudden, unnecessary sense of repose]}_ HIM: More or less, the latter. ME: Why not? HIM: I require further information. ME: In order to answer the question, or, that is the answer to the question? HIM: The latter. ME: Very well. HIM: Were you negating me as a (person or a friend), or merely switching from [the syntactical space of the question “Is there any reason to be?” (because it was, after all, hanging in the air there like a dead song)] to [that of the question “Is there any reason to be afraid?”], the repetitive stacatto of those No’s serving to alarm or arrest me out of [the stupor created by my own erroneously attenuated grammatical imaginings?] ME: The latter. HIM: Oh! Fine! Then there’s nothing to be afraid of. ME: That’s kind of what I thought, but . . . . HIM: But what? ME: If you please, why not? HIM: Because, my friend, any time we want to we can swish thru these weeds over to that barn where the candlelight is, ascend like rust in quietness up the hay loader, take our places underneath the slatty, slotty, boards, underneath the slutty stars, and fuck. ME: Then I got my answer. HIM: What was it? _Mutual Star-Trek-style laughter. A hobo grinning. An elevator. Grain. Patchwork of night, Wyoming, long, hollow, groove-filled tube-shaped spark of blue night._ HONEST TO GOD FUTURE ME: am. Well fuck it, this is who I