I fantasized about moving to New York and living in the apartment of that drug dealer I visited last June. It wasn’t huge, just a one-bedroom on the third floor facing the street. In my fantasy, people come to visit me, but I don’t have time to see them because I’m so busy. Because of the book I’ve had published, I am often recognized when I go out. I am very trim and lots of people call me. I don’t know how I’d ever get the drug dealer’s apartment or, more important, the book. There’s still a lot to work out.
