I swear I just saw my long-lost friend, Robert Chaviano, walking down the street, engrossed in some reading materials. I can never tell if my brain is just burned out, and I'm seeing apparitions, or if I'm an idiot for not trying to chase people down on the street. I miss Robert, he was a good friend.
Maybe it was my subconscious playing tricks on me after reading Alterman's description of Navaksy (I often lent Chaviano my copies of the Nation, and I remember him complaining about the never ending stream of Alger Hiss articles).
{Personal}
