At the airport now, planes are shunting around in the light snow, and the PA system is playing Marilyn Manson. So it's come to this.
It's my last afternoon in Toronto. I'm eavesdropping in the waiting area at the gate. A woman a few rows over is leaning closely in to her friend, making emphatic chopping motions, saying, "I'll be LONG gone." A baby appears nonplussed by her bunny suit. A small boy is crouching his way from another set of seats towards said baby like a tiger. A couple just kissed twice, and looked tired and sad.
I must say, I'm a little sad to be leaving. My last event here was a couple of hours ago, a radio interview on SiriusXM's The Ward and Al Show. It was joyful. I hope I did the rapid-fire hosts justice--we talked about fur hats, anti-vaxxers, a short-story versus novel smackdown, and, oh yes, my book. It was a good time. I didn't sing, but at one point, Ward opened All True and read part of chapter nine in a falsetto.
I'm looking forward to finishing Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch on the flight (I have an essay on this in the works), and to continuing the book tour in Vancouver next week. And the waiter who served my late lunch just now asked me to go to Chile with him, so there's that option.
I'm the author of My Name is a Knife, All True Not a Lie In It, and The Old Familiar.