The Toyotomi Blades

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It was a dark and stormy night.

Yeah, yeah, I know the phrase comes from Edward Bulwer-Lytton, who has the dubious distinction of having a bad writing contest named after him. I also know that’s how Snoopy starts his one-page novels that never seem to get finished. But darn it, it was a dark and stormy night: one of those terrible New York City storms that drives even the muggers and dope dealers off the streets, and at two in the morning it was as dark as a Hollywood producer’s heart.

I wasn’t there, but he challenged me to figure things out and I’ve thought about what must have happened countless times. I imagine he started the night by sitting behind the building’s parapet, waiting for time to pass and clearing his mind of thoughts of death.

It’s a Zen exercise to sit under an icy waterfall and meditate. As you do this, your whole body is transmogrified from shivering flesh to ethereal numbness. Tiny bullets of water impel their way into your consciousness, forcing you to drive into your inner self to remain focused and concentrated. Sitting in the storm that night must have been close to this.

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