“My mother did not speak with a Yiddish accent, nor did she ever once in my entire life fix me up with a female, Jewish or Gentile. This is just a story. How it came to be, however, is pretty strange. On Saturday 16 August 75, in company with nineteen friends, I sprang for a thirteen-course Szechuan meal at Golden China on Van Nuys Boulevard in the Los Angeles suburb of that name. Van Nuys, that is. Come on, keep up with me. There we were, all sitting around these round tables, with ...Gil Lamont trying to prove he wasn’t drunk by making an ass of himself harassing the waitress, with Arthur Byron Cover looking trepidatiously at the kung-poa beef and trying to reconcile it with his limitless capacity for junk food, with Ed Sunden, who had come in from Chicago to bring me a splendid set of tungsten tournament darts, bugging me to write a story in which he was the hero, with David Wise and Kathleen Barnes trying to pour soy sauce on Chick Dowden in an effort to cut off his puns….MoreLessRead More Read Less
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