With a little luck, you'll dismiss this labor, react as Zampano had hoped, call it needlessly complicated, pointlessly obtuse, prolix - your word - , ridiculously conceived, and you'll believe all you've said, and then you'll put it aside - though even here, just that one word, "aside," makes me shudder, for what is ever really just put aside? - and you'll carry on, eat, drink, be merry and most of all you'll sleep well. Then again there's a good chance you won't. This much I'm certain of: it doesn't happen immediately. You'll finish and that will be that, until a moment will come, maybe in a month, maybe a year, maybe even several years. You'll be sick or feeling troubled or deeply in love or quietly uncertain or even content for the first time in your life. It won't matter. Out of the blue, beyond any cause you can trace, you'll suddenly realize things are not how you perceived them to be at all. For some reason,