Sitting at The Breakfast Club, gesturing to Gabriel over the summit of my “Hobo Scramble,” I presented a powerful pro-waffle position. Its core assertion was that we should have hot waffles, smothered in chocolate ice cream, available for free at our Sakuracon booth. He’s been trying to talk me out of it for a week now, because he has no vision, and I do: I see waffles leaping out of toasters and into smiling mouths. I don’t see what the fucking problem is.

I tried to break down the essential position for him. “You’re arguing for a universe with fewer waffles in it,” I said. “I’m prepared to call that cowardice.”

No wonder this man is a literary hero of mine.