Who are you…?

For a moment, he seems confused.

“Wait, haven’t I already told you this befo…oh, nevermind.

“My name is Adam Armour,” he says. “Professionally I’m a writer; unprofessionally…I’m….uh…also a writer.”

The man thoughtfully strokes the wiry sprigs of hair struggling to escape his chin and looks to the sky as if pondering something important, although you suspect this isn’t the case.

“For seven years now,” he begins, his voice distant as if calling out to memories that have long since packed their bags and left town. “I have slaved over a keyboard as the sole staff writer for The Itawamba County Times, a tiny news rag in the equally tiny Mississippi town of Fulton. Although most of my articles focus on small-town life and the paltry news generated therein, I am also the author of a regular personal column in which I discuss everything important to me: my intense hatred of psychics, the joys of swearing profusely, life with my cats.”

He looks at you again, his eyes flaring with self-importance.

“My work,” he says excitedly, his voice quivering with barely contained elation, “including news reporting, feature story writing and photography — has earned eleven Mississippi Press Association awards, including six ‘Best of’ category recognitions.”

His chest puffs, his voice deepens, and he says, “I’m very important.”

A.) Really?

B.) How fascinating. You sound like an exceptional individual. Pray tell, in what other ways are you important?

C.) Where am I and how the hell do I get away from here?