After a while you get to recognize the crazy people: there’s the one who’s always sweeping the sidewalk, the one with the dreadlocks who’s threatened half of my friends, the big guy with the headphones who’s always talking to no one, a constant stream of words. You get to recognize them because they’re always doing the same things; they exist without time, like stones or trees or summa theologicas.

Once I saw the big guy in the city: this morning my groggy brain recalled this and wondered whether the people he’s always talking to, that no one else can see, talk directly to him, or if they are as crazy as he is. In which case I am forced to wonder why I keep seeing the same crazy people. Or I was. I was pretty groggy this morning.