"People often stop me on the street. They want to say hi, sometimes take a picture, and talk about Slaughterhouse-Five. No one really wants to talk about my other books. It's almost as if I never wrote them. But I did. I can see them. As a matter of fact, I'm looking at them right now. Oh well. Better to be known for one book than for none, I suppose. Of course, what people want to talk about when they talk about Slaughterhouse-Five is Dresden, and how I survived the bombing. I think I'm supposed to be in awe of the fact that I survived, but I'm not. I'm in awe of the fact that I've been smoking Pall Malls for seventy years and that according to my doctor, I have the lungs of a man in his thirties, and better yet, the lungs of a man in his thirties who never smoked. This to me is a miracle, as close to proof of a supreme being as I'll ever get. And I've been looking for proof for most of my life. Haven't found it yet. Oh well.
Kurt Vonnegut is not dead. I just saw him yesterday. He smokes too much, if you ask me, but he does seem to really enjoy it. And since it hasn't effected the grinning pumpkin smile on his face, I felt no real obligation to mention it. Besides it was difficult enough keeping up with his long strides as we were walking through the park. People waved at him and he waved back, sometimes doing a little funny dance at them. People aren't so bad, he said, even if they are jackasses most of the time.
"Dick Laurent is dead."