Dirk Dresselhaus has just woken up from a strange, unsettling slumber, and he sits slumped over the breakfast table, rubbing at his rumpled head. Later, when he recounted the story, he didn't tell us what he was eating. But since he is German, let's imagine that he prods absently at a sausage with his fork. It doesn't matter. Dresselhaus himself can hardly keep his mind on his breakfast, full as it is with disturbing images from the night before: a frog, a tortoise, a knife, an ungodly grafting. The images sprout words and swim through his head like pollywogs testing out their tails. He pushes aside his plate, grabs a pad of paper, and... More >>>