It’s Saturday, the middle of the night, way past my curfew, and I’m standing in an alley just outside the Fleishman’s backyard with Anthony Ware and his skinny friend Jack Burns.  I’m ready to hop the fence with them and break into the Fleishman’s house.  The plan is to make it into the bonus room, where skinny Jack says Mrs. Fleishman’s diamond watch waits for us in an unlocked drawer, where on a high shelf sits a shit load of Dr. Fleishman’s booze that Jack swears he’ll never miss.

Do you think interviewing yourself is like talking to yourself? The way your Grandma Stanton mumbled in the kitchen when she made English tea and challah toast?

Maybe.