There's a guy who I see at every damn signing I go to, who always winds up near the front of the line, and always with an arm's length of books. Good chripes, man. I know you aren't a Neal Stephenson, Poppy Z. Brite, and Jonathan Carroll fan. Quiddit already!
All in all a very pleasant evening, and I managed to not gush at
I did still need to walk home and just let my brain settle again- all that old shit stirring a bit.
And I should've waved byebye.