I caught up with my fellow authors in Toledo, Ohio, and came to wish I’d missed them. I’d forgotten that the teacher from the convention and my “main man, Michael” lived in Toledo. When I left the next day for Omaha, I think I was engaged to the dysfunctional fourteen-year-old. With my fellow authors, people who were nearly as boring as I was, I hop-scotched across the country, signing roach butts in such diverse places as Poughkeepsie and Salt Lake City. Everywhere I went, Flynn was just ahead of me, only on a better class of talk show and minus the roach tushies. It took me two weeks to get to Las Vegas for my meeting with the roach animator.
It seemed much longer.
I was walking down the breezeway at the airport when I heard my name being called as someone who needed to pick up a court
