I wrote:
Makes me think of my days back at Atlanta Magazine when I made the mistake of replying pleasantly to the man who wanted to explain to me some world conspiracy. A few days later he showed up at the magazine offices and gave me “the manuscript,” filled with numbers, coincidences, celestial signs, translations from the ancient Greek, a lot of it hand written and illustrated with drawings that looked like the insides of pond life….
Of course, I read some of the stuff and it was like a snake eating its tail. You couldn’t say it was wrong, only that it was probably – as in almost certainly/I’ll bet any amount of money at long odds against it/wake me for the Apocalypse – wrong. Then, he asked for help in overturning the terms of his recent divorce in which he lost the right to have any contact with his kid. It took me a few days of walking through the parking lot to figure out he was living in his car. So I quit answering his phone calls and letters and he went away. He never again came inside seeking me out. (I think I saw him in his car masturbating. I didn’t call the cops. Let the civilians call the cops.)
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