Some people don’t bloom until fifty, their hair grey and thinning. I bloomed at twenty. My social life thereafter fizzled to a peg – a once marble pillar left in acid for decades. Today a woman stopped me on the street, her preamble evident of wanting money. I didn’t believe her story, and her look back said she knew I knew it was lies. I gave her money all the same. Madness. I might go mad again. Of course it’s difficult to do it properly without it looking contrived. There are so many fakers these days making genuine insanity look vulgar.