Once, I’d written a short story—this was back the first time when I thought I might write fiction—and it ended up in some anthology. Three of us from the anthology were asked to read our stories at a Barnes & Noble on the Upper West Side. Toby showed up. He told me he was worried no one else was coming, which, well, no one else came.
So maybe he’s just going through shot and self-centered for a reason. Maybe we’re all self-centered and useless to the world around us.
