Arnon Grunberg



This afternoon a man stopped me on Fifth Avenue, not far from Saks. He looked like a young salesman, but he clearly had the ambition to be a hipster.
He was accompanied by a man, or a woman – I didn’t have the time to take a close look – with an impressive camera.
“You look like a reader,” the salesman who wanted to be a hipster said. “Can I ask you a few questions about Hemingway?” There were two options. This was a hoax or the salesman was going to ask me questions about Hemingway I was not able to answer, like: “When did Hemingway file for a divorce?” To be honest, I didn’t even know what year he won the Nobel Prize.
Either way this was going to be a disaster.
So I answered: “No, no, I’m sorry. I don’t have time.” “Come on, it won’t take long,” the hipster said.
“No, no, no,” I whispered. “I’m in a hurry. Maybe tomorrow.”

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