The Invisible Man

Jeff Sharlet: Open your eyes. Sunday. Another lucky day. Darkness. A luxury afforded the man who owns two tents, one popped right inside the other. No street light filtering in, no headlights rising along tent walls. Just—dark. You could be anywhere. Your father's house, before dawn, in Cameroon, or Paris, or Berlin. Or America. Stretch: You want to run, the canyon, your long legs striding, up out of the city until you reach the vista. L.A. You'll close your eyes and feel the sun on your face, and in your mind a movie will roll, the film of all that is yet to come. You've always been gifted like this, granted stories and the power to believe them. Merci, you think. Thank you, God. Blessed…