I do dare you to free-write for twenty minutes while listening to Yo-Yo's version of Bach. Do not tell me the details of the personal tragedy this journey with Yo-Yo may uncover, just give me one unforgettable fictional line this writing exercise produces.

I stare at the midget-sized door in the room where I hear my father spell-out why he has done what he did with his life. I imagine small clowns opening the door, and telling me "come along, this room is too quiet, down through here you will find joy."