Sure enough my intuition was correct. He called to ask further direction as he was confused by the straight-arrow road that led directly from where he was to my building right on the corner of a major highway. I went outside so that he could see me. He was in a truck, decorated with two big Trump posters on the rear fold-down truck bed and two matching stickers on his rear bumper. He was a tall, stout man of sixty-four years. During our meeting he displayed the same skills of oratory which had caused the judge to order him to stop speaking over her in court. The police officer had the same difficulty when taking his tape-recorded statement, which he happily agreed to provide after waiving his right against self-incrimination in order to incriminated himself. He was out of touch with reality as those of his tribe are. I kept him six feet away from me when we met but his tendencies overrode my instruction. He wore his mask fashionably underneath his nose and when he stood up for emphasis and brushed against my leg I firmly told him to sit down and pull his mask up. I do not know for sure because I knew for sure that he was not vaccinated and would never be. He joins others of his tribe with their pathognomonic behavior in whichever, if any, reality exists after death.