Tell you what, tell you this: I used to go to karate, back when I was six or so. And at karate, something took place, which I haven’t told anyone, but which I now feel the need to come out about and tell. Here’s it: It’s a kid who whipped another kid with his karate belt (White. Most weren’t ever anything beyond. Neither was I.) after the sensei had gone and no adults were left in the dojo. But in the dojo were me, the whipper, the whipped, and another kid standing next to the kid who got whipped. Now he, (the kid standing next to the one that got whipped) is important. He’s what makes it all come together. Though maybe I make it come together too in a way. Hopefully I at least also make it come together or else what’s the point in telling you? And maybe it’s you too who makes it come conclusiv—anyhow—So the whipper was in one corner, the others were in another with their backs turned to the whipper, and I was at watching distance from all. Then the whipper rolled up his belt into a spiral and raised up his arm and the belt went “F-CHSHHHH!” all the way over to the other side of the dojo onto the victim’s back. He screamed and he turned around and he saw the whipper standing far away in his corner (too far to have had anything to do with the crime) and he saw the kid standing right next to him (too close to not have been the perpetrator) and so, clueless as to the whipping, he thought he (the one he was next to) must have slapped him on the back and then quickly transitioned into looking all clueless. So then, misdirecting his revenge in blind rage, he punched this innocent kid in the gut and ran out wailing. Then the whipper ran out, snickering to himself as if he had planned to get away with it from the start, and as if the only reason he succeeded in doing so wasn’t the pure chance of them not turning their backs. Then I was left in the empty dojo with the innocent one, who was on the floor, grunting in pain from the punch. And in that moment, I felt at once—for the first time ever—a spooky sense of singularity with my fellow man (my sweaty, smelly, grunting in pain, fellow man) through getting to witness what he ended up with, just by standing there and minding his own. Though now I wish the whole affair had made me feel spooky singular with a cute girl instead; sweaty, smelly, grunting and all.