We were in class, Monday night. I’m halfway through my second subject on The Imagination. We were gathered around a tiny projector, linked to our teacher’s iPad, with two disposable water bottles as speakers. It was dark and strangely cosy, tucked in a little room refurbished from the 1920s, oblivious to the craze below on Hollywood Boulevard. We were watching two filmed examples from a play called ‘Fences’, by August Wilson. At the beginning of the scene, a young man, stricken, comes to his father:   CORY:   Can I ask you a question? …  How come you ain’t never liked me? […]