It's Monday morning and I'm at Coffea on Dauphine Street, trying to write and talking to Gwen about the possibility of a reading series here. A stranger at the next table says, "Reading series? This place would be great. I run one in New York."
"Which one?" I ask. Somehow I suspected the answer...
"KGB," he says.
"I started that one," I tell him.
Turns out he is Mark Jacobson, who ran the nonfiction series at KGB. And he's here in town working on a story...a story that I cannot reveal here, because it is that good. I guess it is going to be in New York Magazine at some point.
So we sat here comparing New Orleans and New York connections, talking about JetBlue and the inconvenient American flight that is the only direct connection to New York.
Meanwhile, The New Yorker is still the only magazine that I cannot get delivered, even though I have a three year subscription.