He was a God in the guise of a boy. He played with the others like anyone else. Pulled on jeans and sneakers. Made out with girls behind the bleachers. And wrote essays about American history. He could have chosen any time, but he relished this one in particular. It was the chaos that did it. The discord. The moans of agony, disappointment and confusion were so many and so lush it turned him on. “Ah, the 21st century,” he said, with arms spread wide. “Who knew I could be so brilliant.”