They had dinner at a small, upscale pizzeria down the road. You could tell it had been an ordinary pizza shop once, with the linoleum tabletops, until the rich people started going crazy, or sort of crazy, and arriving at the sanatorium nearby. Therefore Sam was confident, given the pizzeria’s usual clientele, that the beautiful young waitress—there must have been a college nearby, in addition to a sanatorium—would be able to distinguish the civilian Sam from his crazy ex-girlfriend; nonetheless he couldn’t help producing a series of gestures throughout dinner to indicate his companion’s dubious state of mental health, just in case, with the unhappy result that the waitress avoided his side of the table entirely.