How deep does it go?
A history? It’s a mystery, a thing that is made to entice but doesn’t sufficiently sum up anything. It satisfies, or it doesn’t. It is an open page or the back of a book. It’s the two hundred fifty words your publisher asked for. It’s a fake, a fraud, albeit a benign one. Or it’s an earnest joke, a self-conscious wink, a laugh in the face of human vanity. Or an aggrandizement of it. A shocking jolt of unconsciousness presented in hypnotic fashion, like a handshake or a smile on the subway. It’s a way out, instead of in.