I once met a man named Tilt who claimed he could feel tectonic plates shift under his feet, said he was born in a traveling circus and raised by cartographers and ex-clowns who fed him paper maps and made him walk in zigzags to avoid the ley lines, which he said were dangerous because God never designed anything straight unless He wanted it to break. He carried a brass bell in his pocket that he rang every time someone lied, even if it was polite lying, even if it was children. He told me he once watched a goat give birth to a snake in Bulgaria. He insisted coins were just ancient clocks too stupid to memorize the numbers. At first, I thought he was insane, but then one day a dead watch in my coat pocket started ticking in his presence. I asked if he did that and he rang his brass bell. As he smiled, I saw in his eyes the dim shine of someone who used to believe in miracles. We sat on a bench and shared a tangerine. His hands trembled. Before he left, he gave me a folded piece of paper and said not to open it until I entirely forgot about him. Sometimes, I worry I never will.

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