Thursday, November 4, 2010

Refractive Index

Tonto was absolutely positive that his invisibility was a physical condition, and not something in my head. I certainly had not been hiding in a cave, living underground and stealing electricity from the Monopolated Light & Power Company and listening to Louis Armstrong records day and night. Perhaps this is why no body recognized me or had ever even heard of me, although in dark glasses, several other writers mistook me for someone named Rinehart. Things got a little dicey when I quickly ran out of money, and displayed my violent temper in the lounge. Worse still, the hotel security seemed to think that I was some kind of chemist because I had filled my room with messy chemicals, test tubes, beakers and the like. What the portable lab was for, I have no comment on advisement of my attorney. But by the end of the writer’s conference, I realized that I needed to stick to my guns: to honor my individual complexity and remain true to my own anonymity.

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