K has a crazed, glazed look in in black eyes as he reports on the current state of his invention-in-progress. We are standing in his basement laboratory amid a mess of wires and machines and papers. Glass discs of various diameters are stacked everywhere. On the wall, a dry erase board is strewn with equations, variables and question marks. All concern the mechanical transformation of a spherical surface to a parabolic surface--the creation of fine optics using a machine rather than the hands--a faster, cheaper and more profitable method. A method that presently does not exist. "It's all in the curve." K has complete faith in his calculations and proclaims he'll have his first prototype by year's end, and soon after will be rich and able to quit his wearying day job designing missile and satellite parts. Over a toast of emerald chartreuse he asks me to be his future VP. Then he twists the cap off a small brown bottle and swallows a white capsule. "I wish I didn't have to take these . . . my doctor says I have high blood pressure. 155 over 90."