"You just ate it. When you looked at it, the food was there. You could smell it and taste it and touch it—if it was hot it burned your hand, Bryan—and you had to chew it and swallow it. If you ate too fast it might even give you an upset stomach."
"But it wasn't real," Channing protested.
"Then what is real? Look at me."
"Um, pretty," said Channing.
"Stop that. Stop trying to change the subject. It's all well and good for you to talk about these things in the office, but you never want to talk about them with me. Touch me. Go on, touch me."
Feeling mildly ridiculous, Channing placed his big hand on the fuzzy red material covering his wife's shoulder. "So what does that prove?" he said.
"Stand up. Turn around."
He stood up, pushing the chair back. He turned around, facing the entrance to the living room.
"Where am I?"