A change had come over him. He could feel it. But to give it a name was another matter entirely. He attempted his regular morning stroll; this only made the change feel stronger, more total. At last he worked up the nerve to investigate this strange turn of events. “Excuse me,” he said to the first stranger he encountered, “am I … made of mirrors?” The woman fixed him with a vacant stare, reapplied her lipstick and walked on.