Time: a novel is my first, nearly unfit for human consumption novel. It’s fine for ostriches and lemurs. But just barely. And only in France and Switzerland. Elsewhere you need a permit. The whole thing boils down to a boy and a girl trying and trying and trying to have lunch.
God Coffee is “that novel I’d been working on” for around five years before I met my wife. It sits in a desk drawer like some Franken-beast, as yet un-quickened. At its most basic, this story is about litter on the streets of Brooklyn.
An Unrelated Story is… something else. A little bit more ambitious. Unreadable. Meant literally, as many of the pages are hand-written, and my handwriting is atrocious. If you were able to read any of it, you’d get the sense that it’s about everything.