We need to escape!, W. says. We need to get out of here! Zizek's gone, and why shouldn't we? He'll follow me, W. says. I have a great instinct for escape, like a confined ape waiting for his keeper's inattention. At a moment's notice, I'll vault the walls …
W.'s ready to vault after me, he says. He's had enough! Isn't that why he keeps me with him: to be alongside another who has had enough?
But it's always too much for me, that's the thing, W. says. I seem always to be thinking of what I left behind. I am, first of all, a man of the outside, W. says. A man who knows what lies beyond all walls …
Somewhere, in my head, I'm running along screaming, W. knows that. Somewhere, head back, mouth open, I'm screaming as loud as I can. W. can hear it sometimes, he says. He can hear it even hundreds of miles away, my great scream, like a dog howling in the night. And he wants to send up his howl, too, he says. His scream. He wants to run along the streets like a madman.
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