I was at the flea book-market hoping for a windfall. There I found an award-winning author rummaging through a pile.
Glancing at the dog-eared copies, I was momentarily distracted. When I looked for him again, he’s already on the move. I followed him out.
“I could sense your question, Mr. Interviewer”, he said.
“Yesternight I’d a dream of an unknown poet asking me to come here and dip into his poems for a pivotal plot-point of my current book which’s going nowhere.”
I wanted to see the dust-jacket; but he waved at me and vanished before I could wave back!