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Nothing definite was said when they walked down the road together. Along side each other. Unaware of irrelevant or relevant details about the other’s thoughts. Not a word was exchanged as their eyes locked and they danced in silence to a moonless night. No one spoke as her starry sky turned dark for him. Jolted by the moment, he waltzed away on his own. Yet, again without a word. She looked inattentively at the empty space. The skies cleared up; she pirouetted in her spot under a starry, starry night.

Man: Where do I begin?

Judge: Why don’t you begin when you bought the gun?

Man: The story began 10 years before I illegally purchased that weapon.

Judge: For what?

Man: To protect me from the mad men.

Judge: Where are these mad men?

Man: Somewhere in my neighbourhood.

Judge: Have they attacked you?

Man: They keep banging on the doors.

Judge: Didn’t you report it to the police?

Man: I did. They didn’t believe me.

Judge: Why?

Man: They said the men, the doors and the banging was happening inside my head.

Judge: But you didn’t agree?

Man: No. There was a real threat. The gun was for my protection.

Judge: Did the real man you shot threaten you?

Man: No. But he banged on my door.

Two disconnected trains of thought. Two disconnected stories.