One day driving on a highway, I passed a man standing on the side.
Frightened by the familial recognition, I pulled over ahead to collect myself.
A shiver ran through me. He was, other, alien, cast out, wandering the road in exile, my kin.
I was torn between turning around to confront him: What do you want? Why can't you leave me alone? Why are you here? What do you need?
He was threatening. I needed to disengage with this relation of mine. i thought to free myself, I had to be killed, or he had to be killed. There seemed no other way.
In the meantime, I would hide out, tell no one about this ruination, and read Medea.