Life as Fiction, Part I
Halfway through my eighteenth year, I left school and headed out to Manhattan. My uncle lived in a two bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side where he kept his dog happy with lots of caviar. He was a handsome, rich man but without a wife. As a pioneer in the field of chaotic dynamics, he had won scholarships and been awarded a significant amount of money. But he and I were a lot alike: Alone and empty.
2 minute read · 12/ Cylindrical Living