Perhaps, he thought, I'll just not think those thoughts - maybe no thoughts at all; for anything that can enter the mind without really making itself known is not really there - more like a ghost free to haunt all it likes but without recourse to typical tricks like hurling candelabras or blowing, like a draft, through the cellar or causing to be misplaced various articles not entirely essential for everyday living but certainly helpful including the salt-ternative, the October Reader's Digest, the just-bought lunch meats, or the lufa sponge: just a ghost condemned to live amongst the living able to walk through the door into the women's locker room but unable to hide towels. No thoughts at all, just the faint suspicion that someone's watching.