Q: “Describe yourself in your own words.” A: “I’m a writer, not a great one.” Q: “Do you have self-loathing?” A: *looks at Q in disbelief* (Silence.) Q: “Well, do you?” A: “Can I borrow a cigarette?” Q: “I don’t smoke.” A: “How about change for the subway? I’m going to miss an appointment. Sorry for cutting this interview short.” (Silence) Q: “Ok, here.” A: “Thanks. Sincerely.” Q: “Are you going to answer my question, now?” A: *looks at Q in disbelief* Q: “Well?” A: “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

The cold air was refreshing, A thought. There was a certain clarity to his thinking, he discovered, out in the cold with the sun shining so brightly. In the bar, Q was flipping through his notes. He ordered another sidecar. He heard a metallic clicking and realized he had yet to switch off the tape recorder. The waitress brought him his drink. He raised it to his lips, but set it down again before he took a sip. He turned the tape recorder off, and gestured to the wait-staff to bring him a menu. A ray of sunlight was just beginning to cross the surface of his table.

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