Hobart being as small as it is, I guess what happened
a couple of weeks ago is not so amazing: I was at a cafe,
working on a poem as it happens, and I looked up to find
a woman at a nearby table reading my novel. Her facial
expression, as she read, remained neutral. I was both
intrigued and horrified. Vulnerable. I had to leave,
with a smoketrail of curiosity following me: was she
enjoying the book or was she bored? I'll never know.
The 4th wall was replaced as quickly as it had been removed.
Tangible proof that there's one reader out there.
Anthony
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