He is still standing up. He is looking around the room, like there’s something he wants to show me but doesn’t know how to broach the subject. “Ever?” he asks. “That’s my name.” “I finished the book.” “You . . . what?” He crouches down to my eye level. His eyes are twinkling. “It’s done. I wrote The End. I even used a different font, to be fancy and shit.”
