Lunch with Ken Scholes. Me, sullen and withdrawn in a shadowed corner of McMenamin’s Barley Mill Pub over on Hawthorne. (I’d misplaced my glasses somewhere and was forced to eat lunch either bare-faced and myopic, or cloaked in the eternal darkness of Cool, plus I continue to feel quite sick today.) Ken, laughing at me and generally being jovial. (He is sometimes mistaken for me at Cons, for whatever that is worth.)
Ken: Yeah, someday they’ll say that after my 900-word story in TEL : Stories I never wrote as well again.
Jay: Right. You’ll be reduced to handwriting 300,000 word rants about how trout are secretly influencing the US government.
Ken: Trout make good household pets, you know.
Home now, all pretense of writing abandoned, huddled on the couch watching a rented copy of A Christmas Story and waiting for the Child to come home, and hoping to doze.