I see confusion now, uncertainty, consternation. I hear mumbling. I'm looking for firecrackers. I said I interviewed him there, that we were neighbors. That I had a bullet hole in my window, that I was writing fiction, and that DeLillo said I was dangerous.
Novelists are liars.
Liars have secrets. I sure hope I get paid for this. Now I'll tell you my secret. These are the clothes I wear every day. Now I'll tell you your secret.