“Yehudi,” I said.
“Tell Yehudi to do it, and it’s done. Sure, you do it, but you don’t know that you do, so it doesn’t hurt. And it gets done quicker.”
“You blur,” I said.
He held up his glass and looked through it at the electric light. It was empty. The glass, not the electric light. He said, “You blur.”
“Who?”
He didn’t answer. He seemed to be swinging, chair and all, in an arc about a yard long. It made me dizzy to look at him, so I closed my eyes, but that was worse so I opened them again.
I said, “A story?”
“Sure.”
“I got to write a story,” I said, “but why should I? I mean, why not let Yehudi do it?”
I went over and put on the headband. No extraneous remarks this time, I told myself. Stick to the point.