The Globe and I go back a long way, even if it’s no longer owned and run by my homies.
This is a place I helped scrub and scrape for its opening some twenty years ago. It’s also the place where I first seriously entertained the notion of becoming a professional writer – even if I never told anyone. Now, I wasn’t one of those people who wore berets, talked about Kierkegaard and nurtured a hostility towards the ruling classes. I had a day job supplemented with a night job in theater that actually cost me money. And I had none of the ennui necessary for a credible stab at the writer’s life.
But somehow, here I am, taking my kid to a reading of my novel at a bookstore at my Alma Mater, the city of Prague.
How’s that for Karma?