THE PRINTER IS ALREADY connected to the computer via a USB cable. While I print out the title page, I grab hold of one of the stacks of paper, tear off the paper packaging. I muss the paper up, bending some of the ends to make it look like it’s been handled by big dirty fingers for a period of weeks. Then I set Roger’s title page on top of it. Retrieving two thick rubber bands from an unused ashtray filled with paper clips, pens, and pencils with the tips broken off, I wrap them around the paper stack. One horizontally and the other vertically.
I set the “book” down onto the table. I’ll be damned if it doesn’t look like the real thing.
Drinking the rest of his beer, Roger glances down at it. “Did I write that?” he says, his face still beaming with an a
