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She dances a little jig. “This would make one hell of a TV show, huh?” “Yeah. But no one would believe it.” I should let it go. But it’s like the hole, like the door, and I have to know. Or at least, I have to ask. “Hey, Dulcie, was any of that real?” She finishes her dance and the wings come to rest. “Who’s to say what’s real or not?” “Yeah, but–my barometer on reality, not so good since I started going crazy. “Yeah, well, who but the mad would choose to keep on living? In the end, aren’t we all just a little crazy?
