A friend asks how to get used to the berries and cherries; not the juicy kind you pick in the summer, but the blue and red flashing lights of a police car that penetrate the blinds in your window at night, shattering your dream and turning you into a nervous wreck. He asks about ways to kill time that drags on forever when you’re down and out; and how to communicate with dogs. He doesn’t ask literally, as he never speaks straight. He asks these questions when we’re on the bus or during a cigarette break. He sounds nonchalant, but then something seems to change in the air.

At first, it feels a tad like a cool scene from a police movie. One of them old and cheap VHS kind, with the lead actor trying a bit too hard, he says. But then it gets less funny when they ask your name; and you know they really mean you.

He asks where is the end of a man and the beginning of dead matter. He asks if anyone is taking notes, how many have passed, how many disappeared. But again, he asks without…