“He’s the first man who told me about this part of the country.” “Who is?” “Sinclair Lewis.” “Oh! Yeah. You know him?” “No, I just read him.” I’m sure she was going to say “Who?” but I stopped her. “You say I cross at St. Cloud and stay on Fifty-two?” The cook said, “I don’t think what’s-his-name is there any more.” “I know. He’s dead.” “You don’t say.”
You gotta love Americans.
