“Yet what I found most intriguing were not the facts themselves that constituted DJ’s stories, but the manner in which she had presented them. Her tone remained breezy and off-hand no matter what she was revealing: My favorite color is blue, my father shot and killed my mother when I was seven, I love to sing but have terrible stage fright.
I knew this sort of detachment well, and the illegitimate things to which it gives birth. An illusion of intimacy, without genuine feeling. A candor engineered to hide more than it revealed. Red herrings and Chinese whispers.
What I also knew: I was a sucker for other people’s absences. The less of D.J. there was, the deeper I could fall into her. And I sensed lots of falling-in room.”
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