The man I met was tall and thin, with purple hair and a deep-cleft chin. He said he saw invisible things, and you couldn't imagine the trouble it brings. In World War II, the Army hired him to scratch phantom itches from amputees' limbs. Later on, he worked with kids, seeing imaginary friends when no one else did. He thought the kids would be overjoyed to have their friends seen, but they just got annoyed. If someone else could see their friend, that made them less special. So, to defend their privacy, kids complained to their dads. The angry riots got so bad that my purple-haired friend had to go on the lam. So then he worked on a farm, growing yams, ignoring his unusual talent for seeing what only exists to one human being.
Then he met a schizophrenic, and was taken away by paranoid visions of the CIA.