North knows that his own self-inflicted rules discourage competition. And that comparison leads to competition very, very easily. Still, he gives a long, low whistle once the last round whiffs through the punched-thin point in the target, pausing on his way back to his own lane.

"All that and an insightful film critic," he comments wryly, eyeballing the distance of the target with a faint lift of his eyebrows. Damn.