When Bret and I walked into Barnes and Noble this afternoon,
who should we come upon but our illustrious neighbor signing books.
While we went about our shopping, the +200 line of fans was winding down.
Meanwhile, Bret found one last copy of David's latest book.
"Here, have him sign this," Bret said as he thrust the book into my hands.
"Go ahead, I'll buy it for you."
(He knows what a cheapskate I am and the book was only 30% off.)
Well by now, he the line had disappeared and he had just stood up from the signing table. "Who should I sign it for?" he asks as he opens the book and signs his name.
"Oh, for my mother, she reads all your books."
"What's her name?"
"What's her name?"
"Libby"
But I'm not finished with him.I introduce myself and say I'm a neighbor
and tell him I almost saw him at the Halloween party two years ago.
I also point out we are the same exact age and
ask why he describes any character thirty-three years or older as slowing down.
He smiles as Bret takes another photo and says,
"Oh but we look like we're thirty-three."
