A few years ago, an aquaintence of ours slowly managed to convince himself that he had become a world-famous rock star. He would appear at our place in his dilapidating Audi wearing tight jeans and a leather jacket and tell us his story of the annoyances of becoming so "recognized". Rather than dispute his claims to fame or try to intercede, we listened in a way that seemed oddly pathological and tried to sympathize with his plight as it was clear that trying to derail his train to a psychotoc break was fruitless. Finally he showed up one night in a panic, the whole world was turning against him, his fans were always watching and it was driving him crazy. Other superstars were on his side, only they could understand, but he felt safe with us
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