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this friend after he was already grown up and (2) his invisible friend has a distinctive smell. The smell is neither offensive nor pleasant, like a combination of a musty wine and a sharp cheese. The smell most readily tells Brandon when his secret friend is around. For Brandon’s secret, invisible friend doesn’t talk much. More specifically, he talks once each day, at exactly noon. The wine-cheese smell will permeate the office or restaurant or car in which Brandon is currently situated, and the voice will emanate from empty air. The voice has a distant, echoing quality to it, as if coming from the bottom of a deep hole in the ground. Sometimes the voice says something profound, like “Only by coming to grips with one’s past may a man look to the future.” Sometimes the voice says something obscure, like “If candles had no wicks, then light would have no reason for existence.” And sometimes the voice says something conversational, like, “That was a splendid game of cricket, don’t you think?” Brandon has given up trying to interpret the rhyme or reason behind these pronouncements. Sometimes he thinks his invisible friend is reading off of fortune cookies. Other times he believes he has eavesdropped on part of a conversation his invisible friend is having with another invisible friend. Once, for three weeks, he tried to respond to these dribbles and leaks of words, but never received a reply, and thus gave up. In moments of quiet contemplation, Brandon almost believes that this invisible friend is actually a guardian angel who smells of wine and cheese. In moments of panic, the invisible friend is a stalking demon waiting for the right moment to strike and end his life. But most of the time, Brandon accepts the presence of this invisible friend the way he accepts the breeze on his face when he steps out of the student administration building at Montana State University. Certainly, his girlfriend has never experienced his invisible friend’s presence, and he is glad of that. With any luck, she will never have to know . . .

THE SECRET LIFE OF
    BILL MOODY
    Bill Moody is a contractor, guitar player, and a wine snob. In keeping with his wine snobbery, Mr. Moody also collects and identifies gestures, mannerisms, and facial expressions. Every day becomes a kind of catalogue for him. Walking down the street, Mr. Moody will watch a car drive by. The woman driver, talking on a cell phone, will toss her hair back and Mr. Moody will mutter, “Jennifer Gray, about forty minutes in, 1987, Dirty Dancing . Precursor: Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot . Since 1987, replicated often. No longer sui generis . Common in hair coloring commercials. Ultimate origin: beginning of time.” Over time, the entire world has become a derivation of something else. For originality, he is drawn to smells, to touch—the tactile experience of tree bark under his hand, petting a cat, running his fingers over the coils of the spiral notebook in which he records his daily observations. These observations, however, do not constitute his secret life. His secret life involves the CIA, the country of Uganda, and a weapon—a sword made in the 16th-century in Damascus and given to him by a dying stranger on a street corner. Mr. Moody never discusses his secret life with anyone. It’s his. And it’s secret.

THE SECRET LIFE OF
    TROY
    Like the ancient city of Troy, Troy the person has many layers, if only one has the time to excavate all of them. Troy is a Republican book collector, although this does not mean he only collects books or book-related materials from Republicans, as I can myself attest simply by compiling the details of Troy’s secret life in this document . . . As a cover for his secret life, Troy runs a vitamin and supplement company. Beneath this layer, Troy works as a rare book detective. He comes to cases by word of mouth alone, will not cooperate with concurrent police investigations (who know of his presence only as a