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I held open the fence and a minute later we were on the other side. The noise from the crowd grew softer as we crossed Wicker Park. We bumped into each other as we skipped over the puddles lining the sidewalk. In the sun one of the girls tossed her hair.
I assembled a team of high school dropouts to tell me what would shake them out of their literary apathy and convince them to buy an actual book with words in it. Almost every person responded with ‘a sweet car chase.’ The results of this very scientific poll led me to believe that there will be a taut, tense car chase in the middle of the book.
Sometimes, while recalling an incident from her upbringing, the soft whimpering noises will grow louder. “What’s wrong, Joan?” I ask her. Tilting her head upward, her voice wavering, she’ll reply, “California.” And I will know exactly what she means.