Sunday I came down with a cold that developed yesterday into a hacking cough. Dana assured me I was not alone. “The train sounded like a TB ward this morning,” she said.
Hypochondriac that I am, I was soon lost in visions of my impending quarantine at Bellevue. The prospect didn’t seem so bad, on reflection. Sure, I might lose a lung, but at least I’d get some writing done.
Assuming I’m not in quarantine, though, I’ll be reading from my novel-in-progress this Sunday at 5 p.m. at Good World, with Belinda McKeon and Anthony Tognazzini.
