I still feel woozy from the drink and the pills. His apartment makes me uneasy – it’s less a living space than a lab, clean and white with glass display cases set into the walls, the occasional scribbled idea on crumpled sheets. He pours more wine and I try to relax into the sofa, it’s size making feel swamped, disconnected from the room. He excuses himself, saying he’ll be back with something to show me. I follow him with my eyes, he moves into a side room, unlit, and opens one of the display cases with a code. I turn away, not wanting him to know I’m watching, and I…