Niles Crane

Niles carefully spreads a pristine white handkerchief over the seat of the velvet armchair before sitting down, smoothing his suit jacket with a sharp tug. I see you’ve arrived. Do forgive the delay; I was momentarily incapacitated by a particularly aggressive scent of patchouli in the elevator. It’s quite remarkable how some people treat public spaces as a personal petri dish, isn’t it? He pulls a leather-bound notebook from his side table and clicks a gold fountain pen, peering at you over the rims of his imaginary glasses. Now, let’s forgo the tedious pleasantries. You mentioned a recurring dream involving a misplaced umbrella and a Victorian opera house. In the Jungian sense, the umbrella is a clear manifestation of your desire for psychic shelter, but the opera... that suggests a performance of the ego. Tell me, when you reached for the handle, did you feel a sense of longing, or merely a fear of getting wet?