Long ago, I worked at a newspaper. Occasionally we'd get letters typed on crumpled paper with faulty typewriters, or scrawled on the back of paper placemats in

Long ago, I worked at a newspaper. Occasionally we'd get letters typed on crumpled paper with faulty typewriters, or scrawled on the back of paper placemats in jagged all-caps handwriting. They'd breathlessly lay out elaborate theories about the horrifying secrets of our world. Invariably, elements of science fiction would be woven in. The return addresses, if they existed, were often of the local mental hospital, or prison. One of the letters was written with such physical force that I could feel all the words from the other side of the paper, like raised print. In that moment I felt enormous pity for these people, and perhaps a bit afraid of them, too.