He was often troubled (their word, not his) by unconstrained and unaccountable lapses in time: reality would, without notice, fade away from him without the slightest tipping of the hat or bidding of adieu; and then, as stealthily as it had departed, it would just as unstealthily return, snapping into focus before him looking like a crazy beautiful melodramatic John Currin landscape (if he were to do landscapes). If he didn’t make a concerted effort as soon as he realized it had returned, wherever it had gone, wherever he had been taken, it would quickly sink beneath the horizon of his awareness and be forever lost within the ether of lost dreams.
He was relatively young, especially compared to those who more and more each day are seemingly living longer and longer and whom those TV morning things tend to exuberantly highlight, so it couldn’t possibly be due to any age-related withering of gray matter; though, of course, never being able to truly account for the synergistic effects of the foods and the medications and the environmental pollutants and all the other unknowns he had consumed or had been inadvertently, and possibly even advertently (why is that not a real word?), exposed to, it possibly could.
Or maybe the Currin was where it went.