Or, just after falling asleep reading "Mind/Body Travel" by John Somebody (I put the book in the garbage eventually because it spooked me), I got a phone call from a deeply recognized but unknown voice, saying, "don't you know who this is. It's John."
I once stepped on the head of the son of the Senator from New York. Smoking not cigarettes, too young, I bumped into this very tall, imposing man as I was exiting the kitchen from raiding the refrigerator. I felt even smaller than I am and looked up to see a looming though bemused Leonard Bernstein holding me by the shoulders, I suppose. I shook free and ran upstairs. Who is Spike?
