The beginning, of Paul and me, was as natural as anything. We met for the first time at one of Henry’s birthday bashes. He threw them every year, starting on his sixteenth. Neither Dr. Lee nor my father was crazy about it, but they preferred he held it at our house as opposed to somewhere else, where God knows what would happen, and agreed to go away overnight as long as I was there to monitor and keep it under control. I’m not sure why he was so set on it, why he looked forward to it; since every year, without fail, about midway into the festivities he’d get very depressed, because of who didn’t show, or who left early—either the girl he was chasing or the one he’d just broken up with—and then he got very, very drunk.

What’s up?

Not much.

 

Didn’t your first novel just come out?

In March.  That was three months ago.  Which is a century in media time.  15 minutes is now 15 seconds, and my 15 seconds of fame expired 8,899,200 seconds ago.