I don’t know if anyone else feels this way but... I think I might be a bit of a cold person, deep down. I’m sixty-one now, and I spend a lot of time alone in my studio—which is really just a corner of my kitchen—and I’ve been thinking about this one man I knew. His name was Thomas. This was back when I was twenty-eight, nearly thirty years ago. He was the kindest person I think I’ve ever met. He used to leave little notes in my sketchbooks, telling me how talented I was, and he’d always make sure there was gas in my car because he knew I’d forget to check. He was... stable.