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What do you see when you look at the night sky?
Do you see the stars twinkling in the endless black? Flitting, like fireflies?
When you look at a star, what you usually see is the star from years gone by, its light inching closer in a slow crawl towards the Earth.
It's entirely possible, then, that the stars we see in the night sky as it comes alive with the eyes of the gods do not exist anymore.
That's how the stars shine in this world.
Not in Los Angeles, though. The stars shine different in the City of Angels.
For Russell Westbrook, Los Angeles signified a homecoming, having led UCLA to a couple of Final Four appearances way back when.
On his third team in three years after an 11-year stint with the Oklahoma City Thunder franchise, Russell Westbrook, arguably the most divisive superstar in NBA history, teamed up with LeBron James, one of the greatest ever, and Anthony Davis, a generational superstar.
This Orion's Belt of galactical NBA beings was assembled with an end game in mind: an 18th NBA championship for the Los Angeles Lakers, a fifth for LeBron James, a second for Anthony Davis, and a first for Westbrook.
It, erm, didn't quite work out that way, for a multitude of reasons.
When the Lakers traded for Westbrook, questions were raised about the basketball fit of the trio. How would Westbrook, a one-man freight train masquerading as a ball-dominant guard thrive next to LeBron James, a man who needs the ball in his hands most, if not all the time?
How would the oldest roster in the NBA handle the rigours of an 82-game season?
It turns out it, erm, didn't, with the Lakers going 33-49 while ranking in the bottom 10 on both offense and defense,
One year removed from the trade, the Lakers are dealing with a situation that's less peanut butter and jelly, more Flamin' Hot Cheetos in a dumpster fire.
For Russell Westbrook, who could conceivably be on his fourth team in four years when the NBA season gets underway, the Los Angeles Lakers experience has been a particularly dispiriting one.
A man who was labelled "the most electrically non-defining player of his generation" by The Ringer's Brian Phillips, is now learning that he may be a future Hall of Famer, but time is an illusion in the NBA and he's on the wrong side of the mirror.
For years, Russell Westbrook has been an enigma of sorts.
Racking up a triple-double is no mean feat, but Westbrook made it the new normal.
As he himself once put it:
"I'm pretty sure if everybody could do it, they would do it. ... Shit ain't easy though, I'll tell you that. It ain't easy."
Westbrook's be-everywhere-do-everything brand of basketball endeared him to the crowd in Oklahoma City, but only for so long.
When he developed his nuclear style of basketball in Oklahoma City, it appeared he had tamed one of the seven deadly sins - wrath; enslaved it somehow in a ritual long forgotten by man. He released that wrath on the basketball court, dishing out assists, clutching onto rebounds, leaping past players much taller, with a drive so relentlessly single-minded you'd think the world's fate rested on him getting to that loose ball.
And it worked. But only for so long.
Soon there were whispers in OKC that Westbrook had enslaved another deadly sin: greed.
With Kevin Durant as his running mate, Westbrook stood accused of hogging the ball. He was taking shots away from Durant, they said. One thing led to another and Durant bounced for a 73-win Golden State Warriors team, racking up a couple of championships, being crowned Finals MVP in both those runs.
Much later, Russell Westbrook bounced as well, weary of the trials and tribulations in OKC. It was time for a change. Houston was calling.
The Houston Rockets were all-in on the Russell Westbrook experience, of course, sticking to the "Let Russ be Russ" line and trading away a traditional centre to go small-ball.
It, erm, didn't work out.
Even as Westbrook racked up triple-double after triple-double, going consecutive seasons averaging a triple-double in Oklahoma City, there was a sense of fatigue around him in the league.
The Russell Westbrook experience put asses in seats. It was oohs and aahs and "Jesus Christ, did you see that?!?" But it demanded so much attention with such little return.
No championships. No "we were so close" debates.
Just Westbrook being himself, playing a brand of breathless basketball; a personification of a Red-Bull-powered freight train. Maddening but beautiful. Flawed but full of hope.
The Lakers were supposed to be it. Westbrook's last stop. This was where he'd win a championship, with LeBron James, the NBA's resident immortal being.
But when LeBron James is at your franchise, is there room for another alpha-male protagonist? Is there room to let Russ be Russ?
The belief was that they were three superstars and superstars always figure out a way to harmonise on account of their preternatural feel for the game. Surely two former MVPs could find a way to co-exist, share the ball, lay waste to dynasties, conquer the world.
It, erm, didn't work out.
It got so bad that Westbrook had to come out and say, "I've earned a right to be in closing lineups."
Now, Russell Westbrook is in a familiar, albeit unsettling place.
Win-now teams cannot afford to trade for him, owing to his albatross of a contract and diminished powers on the court.
Rebuilding teams are thinking twice about taking on the Sin Tamer, owing to a certain prospect named Victor Wembenyama, listed at 7'3" with a 7'9" wingspan, christened as the most tantalising prospect to enter the draft since Kevin Durant. Having Westbrook won't allow them to tank and get the No. 1 pick in the draft.
Westbrook, then, is in no man's land.
No one plays basketball like Russell Westbrook. Chances are, no one will.
But maybe that's it.
Westbrook is the personification of dragon's breath. Maybe teams are just tired of getting burned.
"Maybe the star doesn't even exist anymore. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.” - Haruki Murakami
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