In recent weeks, I've been having a lot of
internal (and external)
dialogue about how great it is that my baby is
starting to grow and run fast enough to keep up with the big boys.
No one believes Liam when he
starts raving about a lookalike haunting his periphery, but his radical communist - leaning son happily analyzes the rich man's crisis in line after line of overwritten
dialogue: After calling Liam a «victim of
internal contradictions of capitalism,» he diagnoses the doppelganger as «a projection of the part of you that you hate,» then delights in being in a «story by Kafka» when father and son go hunting for the mystery man through the vomit - strewn streets of Dublin.