First, you feel a tugging, like being the bobber on a fishing line. You go down under the water—wham! If you’re me, and I am because who the fuck else would I be, your mind immediately connects this with reports you have read of being eaten by a shark, so you know what’s happening to you and you’re aware of knowing, how irritatingly fucking postmodern. You think of that amazing professor from the Vienna School of Literature who gave a lecture at some desolate paid-for event you attended in Hong Kong, who wore a dress that was cut to the hip and whispered in your ear that she’d put herself through college by writhing, nude and glistening, in a nightclub cage. She would have told you to concentrate on the fucking blowjob.