The Unknown: The Red Line.

We said fuck a lot that trip. Our first worming into the Big Apple, it treated us rotten. We were still nearly completely unknown, and this was a town that didn’t have a lot of time for you if weren’t known. We met with Marla, that was when she officially became our publicist, so that was cool, but all the other buzz about The Unknown (that time around) was mostly self-generated. We did impromptu readings at the Strand, at Gotham Books, at the Union Square Barnes & Noble. Fucking Strand! Fucking Gotham! Fucking Barnes & Noble at Union Square! New York City, I gotta admit, has the toughest fucking bookstore security forces you ever fucking heard of. We were taken down again and fucking again. Dirk received a fucking black eye at the Strand. Scott injured his fucking ankle at Gotham. William broke a fucking rib at Barnes & Noble. It was not fucking pretty.

Aside from the generous and warm reception we received at the 92nd St. Y and the fact that Marla, in person, turned out to be drop-dead gorgeous and well let’s face it attracted to Scott, the trip was pretty much a professional bust. So we decided to meet some of the ordinary, everyday type people that are, in essence, what The Unknown is all about.



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