My friend Erik saw Salman Rushdie and his sexy model wife the other day in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We were on our way to the Dianne Arbus exhibit and there he was in front of a 3rd Century BC heiroglyphic. I wouldn't have noticed him except for Erik whispering feverishly in my ear that I must turn around and look at him. He was wearing these fashionable little black leather tennis shoes and jeans that were frayed just so, which struck me as surprising, but if you are an internationally known writer with death sentence on your head and a sexy model wife, then I suppose you would dress with a little edge.
As it happens, Midnight's Children is sitting next to my bed, as it has been for several months. I have only read sixty pages or so, but technically I am reading it and technically it could have been in my bag when I saw him. Perhaps I could have had it signed if I had only been a bit more diligent about my winter reading. Really, Erik was much more bummed than I that he didn't have anything for him to sign.
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