These Dreams of You

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It seems to Zan that Brown visibly labors not to go out of his skull at the children’s very presence. Always thin with a loping gait, he’s lost even more weight since Zan last saw him years ago, in a way that appears distinctly unhealthy; his once long hair is now cut short and he’s as disheveled as writers are expected to be, or as disheveled as Brown expects that writers are expected to be, anyway. Appraising the kids with an affected patience, he has a voice and manner of speaking that’s less bombastic than slightly and quietly superior.

Sheba gives not the slightest evidence of decaffeination. “I trust this is all right, then,” Brown finally says uncomfortably, looking at the place around them; the two men shift where they sit. “Fine,” says Zan. “I was going to suggest a pub we were at yesterday called the Ad Lib — or it used to be called that. I don’t know what it is now.”