halfway through my debate with ben shapiro, the auditorium lights cut out.
i save the event by producing some candles. nobody wonders why i had exactly five or why the wax is such a deep crimson.
as shapiro continues his speech, i walk towards him, placing pages from my notebook in concentric circles around his lecturn. i hadn't been writing notes.
the room goes dark again but the candles stay lit. "what kind of non sequitur is this?" he shouts. "WRONG DEAD LANGUAGE", we reply.