be　dealing　with　till　lunchtime。？

？Sounds　great　to　me！？　gushed　Greg。　？Am　I　supposed　to　just　wait　down　here；　though？　This　guy

Clark　told　me　to　e　down　here　and　that　he？d　be　with　me　soon；　but　that　was；　like；　fifteen

minutes？？

？Well；　Clark　knows　what　he？s　doing；？　Dan　interrupted。　？I？ve　got　to　get　upstairs；　but　I？m　sure　I？ll

see　you　around；　Jeff。？

？It？s　Greg；？　the　guy　corrected　him。　？Did　anyone　ever　tell　you　that　you　look　exactly　like　that　guy

from　the　Raves；　Dan　Something？？

Dan　froze　in　midstep。　？Humphrey。　His　name？s　Dan　Humphrey；？　Dan　informed　him。　？Well；

actually　my　name？s　Dan　Humphrey。？　Dan？s　career　with　downtown　rockers　the　Raves　had　lasted

for　exactly　one　gig　at　Funktion　on　the　Lower　East　Side。　He　couldn？t　believe　anyone　remembered

that　night。　He　certainly　didn？t。

An　entire　bottle　of　Stoli　can　do　that　to　you。

？Oh　man；　are　you　serious？？　Greg　crossed　the　small　room　and　extended　his　hand。　？You？re　Dan

Humphrey？　You？rethe　Dan　Humphrey；　the　poet？　I　can？t　believe　I？m　meeting　you！　Of　course；　it

makes　total　sense？youwould　work　at　the　Strand。？　He　pushed　his　geeky　horn…rims　up　on　his

nose。　？It？s　perfect。　I　can？t　believe　it。　I　loved　your　poetry；　man。　Got　any　new　stuff　I　can　read？？

Dan　felt　himself　blushing。　Before　his　unlikely　stint　as　a　rock　star；　he？d　published　a　poem

called　？Sluts？　inThe　New　Yorker。　He？d　been　the　buzz　of　the　literary　world　for　exactly　five　minutes；

and　though　his　memories　of　that　time　were　warm　and　fuzzy；　he　couldn？t　believe　there　was

someone　besides　his　dad　who　remembered　his　brush　with　poetic　fame。

？Well；　poets　have　to　keep　working；？　Dan　lied　energetically。　？I？m　putting　together　some　ideas　for

a　novella。　Tha