The Bazaar of Bad Dreams

What better place to end a collection than with a story about the end of the world? I’ve done at least one sprawling book on this subject, The Stand, but here the focus is narrowed to little more than a pinprick. I don’t have much to say about the story itself, other than that I was thinking about my beloved 1986 Harley Softail, which I’ve now put away, and probably for good – my reflexes have slowed enough to make me a danger to myself and others when I’m on the road and doing 65. How I loved that bike. After I wrote Insomnia, I rode it from Maine to California and remember an evening somewhere in Kansas, watching the sun set in the west while the moon rose, huge and orange, in the east. I pulled over and just watched, thinking it was the finest sunset of my life. Maybe it was.

Oh, and ‘Summer Thunder’ was written in a place much like the one where we find Robinson, his neighbor, and a certain stray dog named Gandalf.