I drive home, staying just under the speed limit and signaling every turn and lane change although the highway’s empty. I look in my rearview a lot. When they catch me, which they will eventually, despite their incompetence, I’d rather it didn’t happen because I was doing 60 in a 55.

Anyway, I have a theory on what I do. There’s an art to it. Not to the killing or raping, but to selecting a target.

Physicists will tell you that everything in the universe pulls on everything else. We call it gravity.

I make holes in space. I take something away, and its no longer pulling on everything else around it. Its coworkers get concerned, its family wonders why it doesn’t call. All those little satellites and planets spin away now that they’re no longer being reined in.

So, this is the artistic part: you make your hole in a place where nobody much will notice or care when things spin out of orbit. A small hole in space that nobody important will notice.

That’s how you get to do this for 28 years, like me.