After driving through six states, all drenched with rain, I arrived in New York City. Only to be rear-ended by a big yellow cab. Once situated in a downtown hotel looking out over Times Square, I popped a few Advil for my sore back and set out on foot and subway train to the McNally Jackson independent bookseller. From there it was off to the White Horse Tavern in the West Village for a drink and early dinner. The bartender was an easy going friendly chap from Madagascar named Lova –– not pronounced like Mr. Lova Lova, but like Loofa –– with a V. I received an education from him about his hometown and we shared a few laughs. I'll certainly be headed back to soak in some more writerly ju-ju from the haunted walls of authors from a by-gone era. Tomorrow we set up our booth in the Javits Center for BookExpo America, once completed, its off to the MoMA to take in a few new exhibits that I'm excited to see. Farewell for now.
Lova is blurry because he kept photobombing –– trickster.