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I met a young man tonight. His name was Liam. In Toledo I went to eat noodles at a poor, sad little Chinese restaurant, and a man sat next to me as soon as the tea was served. He behaved like a spy in a movie. He grabbed my hand and kissed the map/mark. He had one like it on his forearm.

I have been through introductions like that before, very often. But he asked me if I knew about the blue Datsun. Of course I did. But an author has to make a living and it isn’t easy and I have tour dates to make and I haven’t said anything I shouldn’t, not really, he is only following me to frighten me and I’ll be fine.I explained that Datsun or no Datsun, I must be in New York on the 21st.  He didn’t seem to think so. He reads this blog, and he thinks I have already stepped over the line.

Oh, these earnest Western men with their big hands!

I’ve said the word “virus,” he said, and the word “map.” That is enough. I pointed out that I had not said a very important word, the forbidden one, the name of the place our maps reference. No map is without a reference. It is impossible. Liam’s big hands shook, as though I had said I would kill myself. I suppose that’s just what he thought I’d said. I say this blog is still here, every day, and if they cared it would be easier to delete the whole site than to track me over half a country.

Liam said he had a hotel room. Oh, these Western men. They are so sweet and bland, like tea called tea.


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  1. Rebecca said

    Will you be making any appearances in Washington State?

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