“You are always looking at people like this.” And then she made a face, one he couldn’t possibly begin to describe.“If I ever look like that,” he said dryly, “precisely like that, to be more precise, I give you leave to shoot me.”

“Up home we wear a hat like that to shoot deer in, for Chrissake," he said. "That's a deer shooting hat.""Like hell it is." I took it off and looked at it. I sort of closed one eye, like I was taking aim at it. "This is a people shooting hat," I said. "I shoot people in this hat.”

“Where are you?" he asked. "I'm right here" she said. "I know, but it feels like one percent of you is somewhere else, where is that one percent?" he said. "I don't know....I think I'm always like that..." she answered. "I like that." "You do?" "Yes, because that way, I have to always look for the one percent to find it.”

“I don't think he likes girls", I said. "Or boys. Look at the horror on his face. He doesn't look like a people person.”

“That’s a deer shooting hat.''Like hell it is.' I took it off and looked at it. I sort of closed one eye, like I was taking aim at it. 'This is a people shooting hat,' I said. 'I shoot people in this hat.”

“Thank you," he said in that deep tone that was always laced with sadness."For what?" I asked.This time he reached up and pushed a strand of hair from my face. "For seeing me. Most people I meet look right through me. But when you look at me, I feel real, I feel like flesh, bone and blood.”