The first and only time I met Kurt Vonnegut, I was waiting for the Met to open up on what was a very early morning for me — when out of nowhere, I hear my Dad exclaim, “Evan! Look! It’s Kurt Vonnegut!” and I froze and watched the man in question pass, then breathed again when I knew he was gone.

Then my Dad mused — “Where is he?”

And I turned around and he was right there, right behind me — looming and glowering — and so I kept on turning, my back as stiff as an arrow.

  2:11 pm  |   January 8 2010   |  3 notes