“What if I told you JFK junior was alive? It would blow your fucking mind, right? And what if I told you I have evidence?” We stood outside the bar where I had met him and his friend, him speaking with piercing eyes from behind a rapidly shortening cigarette, me smiling politely, affecting an expression I hoped would neither offend nor agree. This was the second time I had encountered this particular man and his particular friend. The first time they had seemed nice enough, and indeed they still seemed so, but there was something beginning to shine in his eyes, something not quite right, something conspiratorial and perhaps dangerous. “I do man, I have evidence, and it’s gonna blow your fucking mind. The world, the world is not what you think. Trump is not what you think. He’s the fucking man. All those political labels man, all those political labels are bullshit. There are only two types of people in the world, nationalists and globalists.” I did not have the heart or interest to point out those were political labels. As they were leaving, they gave me their cards and invited me to call so we could set a time to reconvene at the bar and continue this conversation. I said I would. I have no intention to.