He would spend hours, even days, perfecting the simplest of mime movements — running his hands along an invisible wall, for example, or descending a...set of imaginary stairs into an imaginary cellar. He had an intensity and an ability to concentrate that positively unnerved me at times, as if he could turn his senses of sight and sound on and off at will, and simply plunge into the heart of himself where he could be neither disturbed nor distracted. There were times when I swore he had stopped. "I shot him in the back." He was beating you, wasn't he," I asked."He..." she broke off. "I just had to stop him, Mark." It was clearly self defense, mam," one of the deputies said. "I think we have all we need. You're free to go." He handed her a card. "Here is the name of a grief counselor." But..." my mom started to protest, confused by the sudden change of behavior of the cops, clutching the white card in her hands"He deserved it," I said, sitting down next to my mom and putting a. More

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