He set a timer for five minutes, and began staring at the blank sheet on the desk in front of him. No veering of eyeballs. No wondering about sounds. At minute three, he pinch-held his pen from its very end and dragged it across the surface of the paper. It made a line like a stream falling through a forest and then curved back on itself. It looked like a lower case q. He wrote, “quest”. Then, “ion”. Then “ionic”. Then “tonic”. His father was coming to town. He should buy tonic water for his pre-dinner G & T. Circle that. Martini. James Bond. Tuxedo. He should get his suit cleaned. It hadn’t been cleaned since the last funeral he was at four years ago, for that was the space between suit-wearings. Circle that. The timer went off.