I ask you to tell me something about your childhood and you respond, "There's not much to say." You know not to ask me the same question, because then we'll be sitting in these two uncomfortable dining room chairs, their metal decorative backs leaving red marks on our spines, well past four a.m., possibly well past four days, weeks, years. I could spend the next twenty years talking about the past twenty years. Isn't that what we do, though? We talk about our pasts and, in the process, generate new pasts.