Absence is the highest form of presence.
-- James Joyce A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man
[Henry and I are sitting at a table in his backyard, about to play a game of cards. Henry picks up a .22 rifle leaning against the table and aims it out at the garden and fires. A puff of soil dust appears near a gopher hole.]
Henry: Damn! Missed! He's been eating my turnips.
Henry picks up his cards and looks at them. I do likewise.
Me: What did you think of the election?
Henry: We can basically do two things: build schools or build prisons.
Me: OK, but do the teachers and guards have to break the bank?
[Long pause]
Me: Henry?? Where'd you go?
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