His head lowers, and Less can now see his eyes above the glasses. “What luck to run into you here! Arthur, I want to say something. May I say something?” Less braces himself as one does against a rogue wave. “Did you ever wonder why you haven’t won awards?” Finley asks. “Time and chance?” “Why the gay press doesn’t review your books?” “They don’t?” “They don’t, Arthur. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. You’re not in the cannon.” Less is about to say he feels very much in the cannon, picturing the human cannonball’s wave to the audience before he drops out of view, the minor novelist about to
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