So, I’m headed out to lunch with a friend, but the friend needs to use the restroom first, and he asks if I’ll hold his book.
“Sure,” I say. The book is called Cyber America.
I stand outside the restroom and people walk by and this guy in a torpedo jacket comes walking up.
He says, “Is that, like, about a horse named America?”
I look at the book.
“Um. No,” I say.
“Because I had a horse named America once.”
I don’t say anything.
“When I was a kid,” he explains, “we didn’t have all this techno-babble. It was just horses and guns. And corn.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, that makes sense.”
“You must be a writer,” he says.
“Yeah, actually, I am.”
“What do you write?”
“E-mail, mostly. Sometimes a real letter. Occasionally, I sign stuff, like credit card receipts. That kind of thing.”
He points at a random, moving spot on my chest. “A real funny guy, huh? Your kind will last longer than the filthy cockroaches.”
And then he decides to catch the elevator.
(Side note: if you’re interested, you can now become a fan of SPAM Publishing on FaceBook.)